Pro Posterus
by commandocucumber
Summary: The Battle for Hoover Dam is over. House won. Now he and his smooth-talking Courier must band together and solidfy their grip on the new fledgling nation. A new age has dawned, and there's work to be done...
1. Chapter 1

Pro Posterus

The Aces theatre was brightly lit, decorated with the right combination of flare and color so as to draw the eye. Currently, all eyes in the room were drawn to the figure on stage dressed in a duster and ten-gallon hat. He was strumming an old beaten guitar. Possibly his most impressive aspect was a magnificent handlebar moustache. The audience, made up mostly of middle-aged women, watched rapturously as he quietly serenaded them with love ballad after sickening love ballad.

His own eye, however, was drawn to the young woman sitting in the corner, sipping an extravagant orange cocktail. The same could be said for all the other men in the crowd, for she was strikingly beautiful, with emerald eyes, long flowing black hair. Against all logic, her desert ranger combat armour, and heavy duster only served to accent her already exceptional figure. A beret was angled upon her head in a way which served as much for style as for practical function. If one were to focus on it instead of her tanned face, they would see the emblem of the first recon sniper division of the NCR. The beret looked good on her. Everything did. Her looks were the first thing people usually noticed, and she took full advantage of that fact. Human beings were always more inclined to listen if the voice in question was being delivered to their ears via a perfectly shaped mouth.

The woman usually enjoyed the attention her looks gave her, but at that moment, being the center of attention was the last thing on her mind. Thankfully a distraction came in the form of a middle-aged man, heavily tanned with a thin nose and winning smile. He caught the barman's eye, pointed at her drink, then at the empty bar in front of him,

"Afternoon, Ben." She said in a calm honey-filled voice, "Shouldn't you be at the wrangler?"

"Afternoon, Jessica." The man replied, his own tones equally as soothing, "I finally built up the funds to visit the Strip.

The woman named Jessica smiled slightly and took another sip of the strange orange drink, "And you decided to visit the Aces theatre…"

"I had heard a rumor it's lineup had improved immensely." The man shrugged, "Besides, spending fifty caps at the bar to watch a show is much better for me than losing three times that much to Mister House…"

"I believe Mister House would disagree."

Ben chuckled. The barman came by, dropping off another orange cocktail. The man took a sip, then turned back to Jessica, "The rumour mill says the Mojave seems to be barren of any NCR military personnel…"

"Does it?" Jessica asked carefully.

Ben nodded, "It also says the Legion have disappeared. People say you convinced both of them to leave without firing a shot."

"Not true." The young woman smiled, "My gun went off by accident after it was all over. I always forget about the safety switch…"

"What did Mister House do that made you so loyal?"

"I believe in his vision." Jessica told him.

"Nothing more?" Ben inquired casually, "People are starting to call you Mrs. House."

Jessica smirked, "The rumour mill also says I'm his daughter, and that's impossible."

"Why?" the man asked innocently.

"How much did Cachino pay you to snoop?"

Ben showed a sudden and mysterious interest in his drink.

"Well, I'm afraid I must be going." Jessica said pleasantly, getting to her feet, "Oh, and Ben? Remind Cachino that I made him, and I can break him just as easily. The same goes for you."

* * *

**Alright, so this is mostly just testing the waters (and trying to jumpstart the muse). It's a series of connected shorts, where I'm introducing the Courier. What I'm aiming for is a foil for Jason. Whereas the Lone Wanderer is a silent, dirty, stoic, unkillable hunter who can't really talk but can damned well shoot and solves his problems by eliminating them, the Courier would be someone who can talk anyone into or out of anything. **

**Jason lives the hard life, eating dog food in tin cans in some desolate subway station. The Courier (via Mister House and the Strip) is used to fancy drinks and full meals. She's a silver-tongued femme fatale working on behalf of mister house.**

**I'm hoping to avoid the trap which a lot of femme fatale characters fall into i.e. making it about the looks and the sex and nothing else. I think the key to that is to have her arguments and discussions make sense beyond that. You know? "Don't listen to me because I'm pretty, listen to me because the solution I've proposed is the most sensible one and everyone comes out on top."**

**As is pointed out on my profile, there is a plan for a cross-over, so I might was well introduce the courier.**

**Anyway, Comments? Thoughts? Suggestions? Seriously, anything you got…**


	2. Chapter 2

Jessica Chase stopped by the front desk of The Tops bar and casino to retrieve her weapon: a 9mm pistol with a polished nickel finished and carved ivory grip. It was a beautiful weapon, and she had found it to fit her methods perfectly: it drew the eye for all the wrong reasons, made people hesitate long enough for her to start speaking, and they lost as soon as she did. It was only a matter of time.

She flashed a smile at the doorman, who returned it wholesale, "Have a good time, baby doll?"

Jessica nodded. She holstered the pistol and marched out onto the bustling strip, slipping on a pair of sunglasses to guard against the brightness of the day. The strip was booming with business. Rivers of drunkards, drifters, and gamblers, flowed from casino to casino, the tall buildings and neon lights acting as beacons, guiding them towards both rags and riches. More often the former than the latter, however.

Shouted advertisements and endorsements floated over the murmurs and white-noise of the crowd. The casinos had found out early that it paid to advertise. As a result, the turf in front of each building was populated with promoters, each trying to win over potential customers.

The flow of people parted suddenly to allow the blocky, swaying shapes of the security bots.

She drew many glances as she strode confidently through the crowd. It wasn't her looks, which didn't stand out so much when she stood in the middle of a crowded busy thoroughfare, it was her clothing and demeanor. NCR ranger veteran combat gear was a rare sight in the Mojave unless one knew where to look. It had become ever more rare since the second battle of the Hoover Dam. Jessica had found it to be an infinitely practical outfit. She was the right hand, the will of Mister Robert Edwin House, and as such, she went where he couldn't. The armour had proven to be extraordinarily resilient which suited her long walks through the Mojave desert, yet it's sleek form-fitting design allowed her to keep up the look and general bearing of a traveling diplomat. She considered herself a negotiator, not a warrior. She had people for that.

The Lucky 38 was the only bar not being besieged by the stream of tourists. Indeed, most of them took one look at the imposing red and black doors, and steered well clear. Yet Jessica walked up those steps without fear. She crossed through the ground floor casino and hit the elevator button up to the presidential suite.

* * *

The elevator door opened, letting in the sound of ruckus laughter. A red-headed woman stumbled into view, her rattan cowboy hat sitting awkwardly on the side of her head. She was very obviously drunk, with a quarter-full bottle of whiskey dangling precariously from her left hand. Her right was clamped around a reluctant blonde man in a lab coat. He was trying to pull away, but being dragged, despite his efforts, towards one of the three bedrooms in the presidential suite.

"I don't care!" the woman announced, "I'll turn you straight if it kills me!"

"But I'm not-" the man began.

"_I_ am!" his captor replied cutting him off. She caught sight of the newcomer and grinned, "Hey Jessica! Welcome to the party! Help me win Arcade over!"

The dark-haired woman smiled, "Perhaps another time."

The redhead looked disappointed, "Well that's a shame. Between the two of us, I reckon we could make some real progress. If you're not busy, go check on Boone. He's in the lounge. been staring out the window for hours. Veronica and I are getting a little worried."

* * *

Jessica found Boone exactly the way she'd expected to: standing in lonely silence, silhouetted against the bright blue Mojave sky. The sniper was standing at the window of the pristine mausoleum, formerly the Lucky 38's cocktail lounge. His arms were crossed, his brow furrowed in deep thought as he stared out across the city of New Vegas and beyond into the Mojave desert. A pale red layer of fine sand, carried out from the depths of the Mojave desert through the bar's open window had collected on his shoulders, telling her that he hadn't moved in some time.

She watched him from behind the spotless white bar, listening to the sound of the wind, then took several steps towards him.

"The Legion is gone." His voice was quiet, but it still made her jump. He hadn't shown any indication that he was even aware of her presence.

"Yes." She smiled slightly, trying to gauge him, "We won."

"So is the NCR."

Jessica sighed, "Look, Mister House-"

"Not a word!" He spoke harshly, "A lot of good men died defending that Dam. They won it! We had no right to take it away from them."

"Boone-"

"I mean it!" He declared, "As soon as you start talking, you're going to warp things. I'll somehow come out thinking the NCR deserved to lose it all. I know what you do to people, Jessica! I've seen it firsthand! You get into their heads."

"I'm not going to say that anything I did on behalf of Mister House was in any way fair..." Jessica began.

"Then don't." the sniper replied shortly, "I don't want to hear it."

"Maybe you should anyway." The woman replied, "I do know you, Boone. Everyone else is upstairs having a party, and you're down here turning this into yet another excuse to torture yourself. What are you trying to accomplish?"

"I'm trying to figure out where I fit in." the sniper told her. He still hadn't turned to look at her, "I'm an NCR soldier. First Recon. What the hell have I been doing escorting House's bitch around the Mojave, undermining my own team…?"

"Don't feed me that." Jessica snapped, stung, "if you were really so loyal to them, I wouldn't have found you sniping bighorners from the mouth of a giant toy dinosaur."

He didn't reply, but the way his shoulders slumped told her that her barb had sunk in and stuck. She took pity, staring into the back of his close-shaved head, "You're loyal to more than the NCR. But if you want to move on, I won't blame you."

"Part of me wants to go back the NCR." The sniper said.

"Well…good luck." Jessica replied.

"That's it?" the sniper muttered quietly, "All I get from _you_? Just…good luck?"

"You said I wasn't allowed to discuss it with you." The Courier shot back, "It's your call. What's holding you back?"

The sniper sighed, staring down at the tumultuous city below, "I met Carla here…"

Jessica sighed. Things somehow always came back to his wife, "I know."

"So I can't just abandon this place either."

"Maybe it's not a question of abandoning it." Jessica said thoughtfully, "Maybe it's just a question of moving on. The Legion has been defeated. The Strip is running smoothly. The NCR took some heavy losses… I suspect they'd jump at the chance to recruit a sniper of your caliber. You could name your price."

"Do _you_ _want_ me to stay, or not?" the question had some extra hooks in it, but she was smart enough to avoid them. She knew what he saw in her, what he was looking for, and it wasn't something she could supply.

"I want you to do what you want." She told him, "If you're looking for my personal opinion… you and Cass were the first people I recruited. You're one of the pillars of this team and a part of the foundation for Mister House's new empire. You have a place here, and a purpose here. Not to mention friends…"

"Just friends…?" he asked, turning.

"Craig…" she whispered, her tone edged with a mixture of sadness and pity. She immediately regretted saying his first name. She noticed his reaction. In his eyes, normally unreadable, hidden behind sunglasses, a small amount of hope flared, and she was about to extinguish it.

It would have been so easy to do the opposite. To cave; simply close the distance between them, and kiss him, but Jessica refrained as she had so many times before. It wasn't that he was an unattractive man, quite the contrary. Boone was her senior In real-world experience, and all those years had been filled with pain and misery with the single exception of his wife, Carla. Now he didn't even have that anymore. But if she were to act on her impulse, and initiate that contact, she'd be doing it out of pity, not anything more. She had so far managed to avoid sleeping with anyone for any reason, and had no intention of breaking that streak. It would harm her image. Even when it was someone so close to her. When it was a friend.

Besides, for Boone, it would not be the beginning of something new, but yet another feeble attempt to resurrect something which should have, in her opinion, stayed buried. Jessica was not Jessica, in his eyes, but a reincarnate of Carla. That was unacceptable.

The way the man's shoulders slumped told her that he knew her answer. He was gracious enough to pretend he had not asked the question, and instead turned back to the window. She was wise enough not to say something like: 'it's the start of a new age, Boone. Time to let the past go.' He wasn't the sort of person who responded well to that sort of speech. Instead she chose silence.

Eventually the man sighed, "I'll stay."

* * *

**I understand that Courier/Boone is a very popular pairing. It isn't going to happen here for a couple reasons. **

**One, so that I can keep things open for the cross-over. **

**Two, it didn't fit my own personal interpretation of what was happening in-game between the characters.**

**And Three, Boone always struck me as much older/more world weary than the Courier, male or female. He's a burned-out veteran sniper, whereas the Courier (partly because of fallout 3, partly because of the way the NPCs talk about him/her) was always a much younger character in his/her early to mid-twenties. I see him as more of a chaperone than an LI.**

**And yes. I know he's technically26 years old. But there's more than one way a person can age, and he's been through a lot of misery.**


	3. Chapter 3

Veronica Santangelo sat in the Lucky 38 Casino, staring at an enormous framed picture. The beautifully kept bar was empty. Devoid of patrons, as it had been for centuries. It was deathly silent. One of the only areas of the strip in which a drinker could find peace, and Veronica had troubles enough without the interference of drinking, gambling, and the other ambient noises of life on the Strip.

Jessica sat down in front of her, smart enough to look humble and apologetic. They had been less than friendly ever since- Veronica shut her eyes, trying to drown out the guilt eating away at her; she hadn't been present for the event, but the vision of her home's destruction was painted upon her inner eye nonetheless. At last she looked up at the culprit. The Murderer. Jessica had poured herself a drink, and was seated across the table, sipping unobtrusively. Neither was willing to quite meet the other's eye, but the brunette woman refused to move, and awkward tension built up until Veronica could stand it no longer. She said, "Well?"

"We haven't talked much." Jessica replied.

"We have nothing to talk about."

"I just squared things up with Boone, and Cass mentioned you, and I thought…"

"You thought _what_?" Veronica demanded. "That I might be depressed? Angry? You're the last person I want to talk to, Jessica."

The Courier let out a long breath and stared at the surface of the table. "I suppose an apology isn't going to mean much to you…"

"Take a guess." The young woman replied acidly.

Jessica brightened up. "There are other chapters. Perhaps I could-"

"I don't want you anywhere _near _any other chapters of the Brotherhood of Steel!" Veronica replied angrily. "You'll do exactly the same thing to them that you did to mine!"

"I didn't want to!" Jessica protested. She was rarely on the defensive in an argument, and clearly she didn't like being there. "You don't think I argued with him? I nearly quit!"

"That makes it all okay…"

"No, it doesn't. It just…" The Courier sighed.

"I know what you truly are, Jessica." The Scribe told her, a bitter edge creeping into her voice, "You're a liar. You're a cheat. You're a betrayer and a murderer. At least the Legion has the guts to call themselves your enemy and look you in the face as they kill you. You have everyone here enthralled. Your voice… your looks… the uniform. The attitude. That little cult upstairs. Cass, Raul, and Arcade, they all like you. And Boone's in love, despite the fact you've managed to talk them all into _committing suicide_ for you." She leaned across the table, meeting Jessica's eyes with her own steady gaze. "But I can see what you are."

Jessica stared, for once in her life, she seemed at a loss for words.

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, each one wrapped up in her own thoughts.

"I don't remember my life before I got shot." Jessica wasn't sure why she said it. It slipped out of her thoughts before she had a chance to stop herself. And it certainly didn't justify her abhorrent actions. She had meant it as an opening. A way for them to explore the whys of the situation, yet it came off as a pathetic plea for sympathy.

"My heart bleeds for you." Veronica simpered.

Jessica winced. "I'm sorry, Veronica. Truly I am. If there was anything I could do to-"

"Well there isn't." the scribe snapped. She glared across the table, wearing an expression close to disgust. "What is it with you, Jessica? Can't you get it together? You could talk water into flowing uphill, but the moment you hurt someone you actually care about, you start fumbling?"

The Courier swallowed, staring into her drink. Veronica continued her offensive. "C'mon. You're House's silver-tongued bitch. Where's the fancy retort? Where the pithy game-changing speech? Aren't I supposed to be convinced of your innocence and the greatness of Mister house's vision by now? Wasn't it all for the greater good? C'mon Jessica, use The Voice!"

Jessica normally dislike yelling. It was confrontational, and tended to prompt hostility rather than cooperation. But she found herself sorely tempted. "Maybe I don't want to do that to you. Maybe I'd rather be honest with my friends."

"Since when have _you_ been honest?" Veronica laughed sourly. "You did not tell me what your plan was for the Brotherhood! You used me to get to them! And we're not friends, we're followers. You haven't told any of us any of the plans. You just come up the elevator and say: 'we're going. Pack your things.' Not exactly teamwork. And you disappear for weeks at a time, without any warning at all…coming back with weird technology, or creepy ghost stories… Why aren't we ever along for the ride, huh?"

Jessica stared at her, a penny dropped. "You're angry because you didn't get to see Elijah again…"

"Among _many _other things, yes." Veronica admitted.

"You wouldn't have like what you saw." Jessica told her. "And besides, he _kidnapped _me and strapped a bomb around my neck! I was in no position to ask for a companion."

"Perhaps If we'd been there in the first place…You don't trust us. You use us. You always traveled with Boone when you were with the NCR because it _looked _good. Same for me with the Brotherhood, and Arcade in freeside. And you go out drinking with Cass all the time, but have you ever actually opened up to even _one _of us? You got Boone to pour his heart out, and arcade to admit about the Enclave remnants, but no one knows _your _story, Jessica."

"Do you want to hear it?"

"I'm not interested in being your confidant." Veronica stared into her drink. "Not anymore. All you are is Mister House's Terrier. Do you ever think for yourself?"

"I tried that once." Jessica said thoughtfully. "Apparently it didn't turn out well." She added, "you said you didn't want to be my confidant."

"I don't."

"How about my confessional priest, then?"

Veronica frowned; curious despite herself.

"You're the only person in the Mojave who hates my guts, and isn't trying to kill me. That means I don't have to put up a front for you." Jessica explained. "I don't have to use The Voice."

Veronica raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Well let's hear it, then."

"There was a town, far west of here, called The Divide. Apparently it was my home."

"_Was_."

"I brought a device to the town." Jessica told her. "A transmitter of some sort. They turned it on and it detonated a dozen nuclear warheads hidden underneath the city. There's a giant rift there now, large enough to fit all of New Vegas inside. Nothing human can survive in it. It'll be there for the rest of time."

Veronica stared.

Jessica waited for the Scribe's reaction. A crisp, laconic response along the lines of 'The leopard doesn't change his spots' or such. Yet Veronica just stared, waiting patiently for the rest of the story.

Jessica continued. "It was an accident, but I am responsible for a lot of death and destruction, despite my best efforts to talk people _out_ of killing each other."

"Best efforts…" Veronica said sourly.

"The kind of power I have needs a direction. It needs a higher authority." The Courier told her. "Mister House's vision is the only one driven by a desire to _build_, not to conquer, and not to study. The Brotherhood stood in the way. That's all." Jessica upholstered her .45 Automatic pistol and laid it on the table between them. It had been a gift, left to her by Joshua Graham, the Burned Man. He had told her its tribal name meant A Light Shining in Darkness. That it was appropriate, given her skills and accomplishments. She said, "I don't fire this weapon at people. Not usually. I try every other option first, and it almost never gets to that point. But I know what I am, and what I am responsible for. And I know what I'm doing. I'm doing it myself." She met Veronica's eyes, "Hate me all you like, but never doubt that for a second."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Not really."

"Why did you go back there?"

"I was…called back. By the only survivor."

"And?"

"And he showed me the difference one individual can make. Especially when she has no flag to follow."

"That just means you're a loose cannon." Veronica told her.

"I didn't say it was the good kind of difference." Jessica told her. "As I said, it needs direction. I needed to devote myself to something. Mister House was the most sensible option. The most Beneficial to the highest number of people. Sometimes I have to do bad things. But if I'm doing it in the name of something, devoted to an ideal of some sort, I can justify it to myself. The Brotherhood of steel were a relic of a bygone age. They were dwindling before you and I had ever met. We live in an age where you can build, you can destroy, or you can die out. We both know that. Elijah knew that."

"There _had_ to be another way to deal with them."

"There may have been a way for them to find peace with the NCR," Jessica shrugged. "I don't know. But Mister house is old world technology. The Strip is old world technology. His Securitrons are old world technology. Given their beliefs, they would have torn the strip apart if they'd been able to. Just to study the technology. And in so doing, they'd have dismantled every bit of progress made after the war. And then they would have retreated back into their bunker and left the carcass of civilization to rot in the Mojave sun." She paused, and then added, "Just like I left The Divide."

The Scribe stared at her and then set down her glass and leaned back, apparently admiring the empty casino. "Well now I know why you did it. Why you're trying to explain it to me at all is a whole other mystery. The moment I catch wind of another Chapter, I'm done with you. We part ways and I never see you again." She nodded at the entrance. "I'm tempted to walk out that door right now."

"I want you to stay."

"Why?"

"Because… because we got along really well. Because we were friends before..."

Veronica snorted. "And you don't seeing destroying me home as any kind of an obstacle?"

"It is an obstacle." Jessica admitted, "but obstacles can be overcome."

"Not this one." Veronica leaned forward and offered up an ultimatum. "C'mon, Jess. You want me to stay, you're going to have to use the Voice."

"No."

"C'mon, Jessie." The Scribe challenged, "Fill my ears with honey, and twist my mind in knots."

The Courier stared at her for a long time. Then she rose quite slowly, refilled Veronica's cup, and said, "Good luck. Whatever path you choose." She turned around and walked away.

Veronica watched the shapely woman enter the elevator and disappear. _Tomorrow…_ she thought, _I'll leave tomorrow. Well, maybe the day after tomor- GODDAMNIT!_

* * *

**Not exactly sure what I was trying to do with this chapter. I just had too many rambling thoughts about The Lonesome Road, and how it would pertain to someone who sided with Mister house. Every time I've played it through, Ulysses decided that I supported the NCR. I never got the chance to tell him otherwise.**

**I also destroyed the bunker but kept Veronica. There was NO acknowledgment of the fact that I killed her entire family, so here's a missing bit. Perhaps the game failed to pick up on a clue, but there was no mention of it at all.**

**Also, see if you can spot the foreshadowing. Subtle, no?**


	4. Chapter 4

Pro Posterus 4

"Jessica… welcome to my penthouse." Robert Edwin House's voice was imbued with fatherly benevolence. His handsome face appeared on the monitors. Friendly sunlight shone through the enormous glass windows onto the bookshelves and furniture in the flamboyant suite. It was a refreshing change from the ground floor tomb in which Jessica had argued with Veronica.

Completely at ease, the Courier strode calmly towards the lacquered bar across the immaculately kept penthouse, and poured herself an extravagant cocktail. She had picked up many different skills from living and operating on the strip, one was an encyclopedic knowledge of cocktails. She knew it all, from Adam And Eve, to The Bee Stinger, to the Fallen Angel, all the way down the list to the Zombie. She had found it far easier to negotiate with the house heads and gangsters after impressing them with a perfectly prepared daiquiri -the trick was to pay close attention to the lime juice- and she was willing to pit her own skills against any bartender on the strip.

As she worked, her employer continued. "I'd like to thank you once again for helping restore New Vegas to its prewar glory."

Jessica's new creation finished, she sidled over to the nearest chair and settled in, one leg crossed over the other, one arm spread along the arm of her chair, her drink swinging easily form her other hand. It was a sultry pose, yet not obviously erotic. She'd used more than a few times over the course of her new career, and she'd found it helpful. It tended to at least partially shut down the minds of her targets, making it that much easier to slip in and plant and sow whatever seeds she wished. She took a sip and said, "Taking the Strip is one thing. Keeping it is quite another."

"Quite so." The handsome, middle-aged face stared down at her, his eyes somehow managing to meet her own, regardless of the fact that he was just a picture. She didn't mind. It gave him that much more personality. He said, "In order for any fledgling nation to succeed, one must have Resources, Commerce and Industry, Housing, a standing army, And a political infrastructure."

"You have the infrastructure and the army covered." Jessica observed. "Commerce and trade as well, obviously."

"The Procurement of food en mass is going to be problematic."

"We could expand the sharecropper farms." Jessica suggested. "And work out deals with the caravans. If they bring extra goods, we tax them less."

"And who will work the Sharecropper farms?"

The answer was waiting on the tip of her tongue: "The Kings."

"The street gang?" House said dismissively, "They only operate in the southern section of Freeside."

"They could expand…"

"And encroach on other gang's territory? I highly doubt the Westside would approve of all the activity…"

Jessica thought for a moment. "I can go around to Pretty Sarah's, and get her to chat the idea up."

"The Casa Madrid is a whorehouse, Jessica." House said somewhat testily.

"Exactly." Jessica took another sip of her drink, "When the woman you sleep with tells you something is a good idea, you're more inclined to listen. I can also talk to Klamath Bob, Etienne, and the other major players in the Westside. Perhaps we could get the Kings and the Militia to work together…"

House processed the statement, then said, "An excellent idea. Talk to the King first, and see if he is agreeable."

"He will be." Jessica promised. "ON a side note, push a few more caps towards the Followers of the Apocalypse. They'll keep the junkies off the streets, and everyone will be very impressed with you."

"Good suggestion. I will take care of it."

"Also while I'm headed to The King, send fifteen Securitrons down to The Van Graff's. have them wait outside. They aren't to do anything. If they're fired upon by any of the Van Graff's gang, something I highly doubt, have them retreat."

"Why?"

"If the Kings are going to expand, they're going to be spread thin." Jessica said, "At least for a little while. They run Freeside, but we need to remind the other gangs of just who's backing who. I want Gloria van Graff to be nervous when I talk to her. Having the bots waiting there will do the job. And it's Freeside. The Van Graffs are the second most powerful, and word spreads quickly. If we cow _them_ into submission, then _no one_ will mess with the Kings."

If House could smile, she knew he would have. "Jessica, impressive. That sounds like something I would do."

"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery." Jessica observed, finishing her drink, "If you'll excuse me, Mister house, I've a King to consort with."

* * *

Jessica always liked talking to The King. His rural southern drawl was music to her ears, and she found him, contrary to her initial expectations, to be a reasonable, honorable, and level-headed leader. House had counted on him to keep Freeside, the poor district of the strip, a quiet and uneventful place. By and large, he had, and she respected him for it. Respected him enough to take his cyborg dog Rex on a trip across the Mojave in order to fix it's brain. It sat beside her even now as she discussed the future in his private chambers, a few of his top lieutenants were also gathered at the table, though they stayed silent. That was a problem. Silent people were usually silent because they were thinking, and she didn't want that. She prevented it by adopting The Pose, the same one she'd used in House's penthouse, and was rewarded with wandering eyes, and a quiet sigh. Now they were distracted. Even if they weren't aware of it.

The King himself didn't seem to notice. He had seen beautiful women before, and was distinctly unmoved. Just another thing she liked about him.

"So what brings you down to our quiet side'o town, baby?" he asked. "What does the Big Boss Man want?"

"He would like your assistance." She said.

The King leaned back and crossed his arms. "How so?"

Jessica smiled. Form any other gang leader, she'd have received a speech along the lines of: What right does he have to ask anything of _me_? Or they'd make an assumption such as: If he's asking for help, it must mean he's weak.

But The king knew better. He understood how the battle at Hoover Dam had gone. House had bested both the Legion and the NCR. The owner of the Lucky 38 was not to be trifled with. Nor was his right hand to be treated without respect.

"The Sharecropper Farms." Jessica said. "With the untimely… retreat of the NCR, we have no one managing the farms. Mister house's Securitrons have kept the looters at bay, but the land needs to be tended to. The food distributed… He'd like you to assist in the distribution if nothing else. You can muster up people to work the land. We can pay you, and them, handsomely."

"Mister house cares about the People?" one lieutenant demanded, quiet anger lingering on the edge of his voice. Jessica recognized him as Pacer. He had been trouble in the past, and was indisposed to any kind of authority aside from that of his immediate superior. He turned to The King, "We just got the NCR out of our hair, and now we're bowing to House instead. That's not cool, boss. Let's kick this broad and pull ourselves up. House can clean up his own backyard!"

Thankfully, most of the others seemed to be showing if not outright disagreement, then certain discomfort with the idea of ignoring Jessica. The King was among them. He turned to Pacer first. "We rise up, and he'll send his robots down here to cause us more trouble'n we can handle." He gave Jessica a sideways glance, "But I'm guessin' that's not what he wants…

"Mister house wants peace and stability more than anything else." Jessica promised, The Voice adding a tone of personal belief and conviction. _Mister house wants the people fed_, it told The King_, he wants them sheltered. He wants to help them. He wants to help you. Work for him, and build the best future for The Kings, and for everyone else! Listen to me. I can give you what you want…_

The King shook his head slowly, as if clearing it of cobwebs. He shot her a sly smile. "You got a slippery tongue, baby. Seein' you use it leaves me all shook up."

"Isn't what I say Almost Always True?" Jessica asked, having done her research. The title drop made the King smile. "Think of what Mister house is offering you. He's going to pay you to grow your own food and distribute it as you please. You'll be more than the ruling gang. You'll be a house of your own, just as powerful as the Omertas or the Chairmen. And you'll rule more territory than any of them, with Mister House's Securitrons backing you. All we're asking in return is a little bit of work on your part. You already take care of the People, Mister King. We just want you to expand and continue."

She could see the effect the idea had as it took hold of his mind, and knew that she had won. The other kings looked pleased with the idea, and even Pacer had no response. She said, "What do you say, King? We were allies before. How would you like to be partners?"

The King still got some credit. He went down swinging: "But House is still the big boss man."

"He commands the money, it's true." She admitted. "But he's planning to put it exactly where it's needed. And it's needed at the farms, to keep bellies full and beds warm. The Free Economic Zone is a nation in its own right now, run by Mister House, but owned by all within it. We can come together and rise, or fall apart and leave ourselves open." She addressed Pacer directly. "If we fall apart, the NCR comes right back in and retakes what they lost. They'll have learned this time, and rest assured, they'll be much less tolerant. They'll disperse your gang and absorb it. Then they'll see to it that House is dead. Freeside and the Strip will belong to them alone. Mister House wants the Kings to be the Kings. A vote for him is a vote for yourselves. In supporting him, you support yourselves. So tell me?" She gazed at each of their faces, "Do you like being Kings?"

A murmur passed through the group, and she watched as a silent democratic decision was made amongst the lieutenants. Eventually Pacer nodded, and they all looked to their leader. He was watching Jessica with nothing short of grudging admiration in his eyes. He knew which way the wind was blowing. To disagree with her now would be to turn his lieutenants against one another. Some would support his decision in the faith that he knew what was best. Others wouldn't. His gang was strong, but no gang could survive civil war. There were too many other factions waiting to fill the void. He had no choice. He smiled, "Alright, baby. We'll play ball. Send me the details, and we'll take care of it."

Jessica smiled and stood. He stood courteously and shook her hand. "It's always a pleasure, Jessica."

"And the same, Mister King." She turned on her heel and walked away. She halted by the door and turned, leaning on one hip slightly, just for the effect.

"By the way, " she said, "I asked Mister house, and that name you're looking for? It's Elvis Presley."

* * *

**Finally have a plot for this fic: how House and the Courier solidfy things after the NCR disappears. For all those who were hoping for another chapter of Aqua Vitae, don't worry. it's coming. but those take a little while and i'm doing this in the meantime.**


	5. Chapter 5

Pro Posterus 5

Gloria Van Graff wasn't a particularly pleasant woman, and she did nothing to hide the fact. From the moment she and Jessica had laid eyes on one another, there had been instant and mutual dislike. When she had still been on speaking terms with either of them, Jessica got along much better with Gloria's brother, Jean-Baptiste. The man was a simple thinker, and that suited Jessica, who could smile to his face and run circles around him, just fine. Unfortunately so could his sister. He had ended up as nothing more than muscle. Fitting for him, but troubling for the Courier.

However, Jessica had not said much if anything at all to them after the incident with Cassidy. She had encountered Cass, a former caravaner, near the beginning of her journey, no more than two weeks after waking up in Doc Mitchell's house. She considered Cass to be her closest friend, and the two of them had been together for longer than she had been officially working for Mister House. The incident, which had begun with an investigation of Cass's ruined fortune, had ended with her and Jessica turning the Van Graffs in to the NCR for a joint conspiracy to run out competing businesses. Word had gotten around, and though they'd never threatened her outright (she had been working for House at that point, and as such was untouchable), they had not taken kindly to the action.

She hoped that they had calmed down in the intervening months, but she doubted it.

When she arrived in front of the Silver Rush, she could feel the atmosphere of the street. It wasn't a powder keg. Not yet. But things were very tense. A crowd was watching, from several blocks away. They'd learned to respect the accurate fire, and explosive force of the Securitrons' new guns.

"Evenin' Ma'am." A Securitron trundled up, greeting her with an electronic drawl.

She smiled at the cartoonish cowboy face which was plastered on the robot's yellowing screen. "Hello Victor. It's good to see you."

"And you, Ma'am." The robot lifted one metal arm to the face's forelock, tipping its electronic hat.

Jessica turned back to the gun shop across the street. The windows had been boarded up -as if that would help- and there was no sign of any movement.

"They shut themselves in as soon as we arrived." The Securitron told her.

"Excellent." Jessica's smile widened. "I want four Securitrons posted across the street at all times. Change the guard every six hours, and have a double post in the mornings and evenings. Don't do anything, just watch them. I want them to have some very sleepless nights. When they finally had enough, politely ask Gloria to present herself at the Lucky 38. And accompany her there yourself. Understand?"

"Perfectly, Ma'am. Happy trails."

* * *

"Good evening, Jessica."

"Good evening Mister House." The sky behind House's monitors were bathed in a beautiful orange glow, lighting up the lower clouds with purple and yellow. It would have been a romantic sight, had Jessica been in the mood.

"How did the negotiations with the Van Graffs go?"

"They haven't happened yet." Jessica said. I've put a constant guard on the Silver Rush. They'll come out when they can't take the suspense anymore. As a matter of fact, the guard should be changing any time now…"

"And what happens when they can't take the tension anymore?"

"Gloria receives a polite invitation to dine with Mister house's representative at her earliest convenience." Jessica smiled to herself, feeling rather accomplished.

"That's… almost cruel." House observed. "I've often wondered if you don't have a slight psychopathic tendency, Jessica…"

"If I have, it's certainly worked in both our favors."

"True. I wished to speak with you on a few other matters…"

"Yes?"

"I recently received a complaint from the Crimson Caravan Company…" House began. Jessica threw herself into the nearest chair. "They say that their Caravans are being attacked by The Fiends. The Crimson Caravan Company is important, Jessica. I want them loyal to me. I have…plans."

"Oh?" Jessica inquired, "And what are they?"

Mister house said, "The endgame is starting up the factory district. But I can't move in that direction until the Caravans are free from raiders."

"Well then perhaps it's time to deal with Motor-Runner's little…operation."

"I'm afraid, Jessica," House told her, "That your usual methods of persuasion may not be enough here. The Fiends live for the violence, and you are not a fighter."

"I have people for that…" Jessica said. "Give me a few Securitrons."

"I can spare six." Said house.

"In that case, we'll wait until I've dealt with Gloria." Jessica checked her pipboy. "She should be ripening up nicely."

* * *

In fact, Jessica was rather impressed in the end. The Van Graff's managed to hold out for another twenty-six hours before they finally cracked. When she received the news, the Courier was lying on her bed, reading a copy of Lying: Congressional Style. It tickled her no end that the old world had published a book on how to lie convincingly, and she idly wondered whether or not the author had been allowed to live to see the end of his civilization.

Her door opened and a Securitron rumbled through. She recognized Victor's face on the screen. He said, "Howdy, Ma'am. I've just invited Miss Gloria Van Graff to meet you outside the Lucky 38."

"Is she nervous?"

"Angry as a Yao Guai." The robot told her in its southern drawl, " I'm pretty sure she thought I was gonna shoot'er."

Jessica smirked. "Excellent." She picked out a light summer dress, pausing for a moment, pondering whether or not Vera's extravagant pre-war red-trimmed evening dress would be overdoing it, and decided that it just might result in Gloria attempting to strangle her. She arranged her hair in a tidy, stylish bun at the back of her head. Then she headed down the elevator and across the ground floor casino to greet her guest.

Gloria was an absolute disaster. Her eyes were red, with swollen dark circles, her uniform was unkempt, and she stank of sweat and worry. Her face was set in a permanent grimace, and she was radiating furious indignation. Two Securitrons were positioned behind her in the manner of guards escorting a prisoner. Behind them, the constant fires of the Gomorrah Casino and House of Sin, lit up the night sky. The evening air was cutting and refreshing, and Jessica felt her spirits rise as she listening to the bustling nightlife of the strip.

"What's the meaning of all this?" Gloria demanded, "What have we done now?" She glared at Jessica. "Speak, damn you!"

Jessica, playing the joyous hostess, greeted her with an expression of pleasure. "I'm so glad you accepted my invitation."

Gloria opened and shut her mouth several times. She took in Jessica's manner and evening garb, and confusion overwhelmed her anger. "I've just spent two days huddled up in the Silver Rush, expecting rockets to burst through the windows at any second!"

"I don't know why you'd expect that…" Jessica said innocently. She chewed her lip, putting up an expression of acute confused concentration. "Hmm…"

"Look," Gloria said, a frantic undercurrent showing through, "If this is about the smuggled plasma casters, we'll pay all the fees! It's the last time, I swear!"

"Don't worry about the smuggling, we already knew." Jessica said pleasantly. She nodded at one of them, and for a moment, Victor's face flashed on the screen. Back at the Silver Rush, the Securitrons would be taking a very close look at the Van Graff's paperwork. Gloria shifted uncomfortably, feeling like she'd been let off one hook, onto another, bigger one.

"I haven't eaten anything but canned beans for two days…" the woman muttered, as if trying to elicit some sympathy..

"In that case, dinner at the Ultra Luxe would sound like a pleasing prospect." Jessica clasped her hands together, smiling warmly.

"Dinner…what?"

"Follow me." Jessica set off down the street, with the bewildered weapons merchant in tow.

* * *

Of all the clubs and casinos on the strip, the Ultra Luxe was the place which had been changed the least by the nuclear holocaust. Jessica had spent more than a few happy days perusing the casino, swimming in the large pool, or simply relaxing in the steam rooms with pleasant violin music playing in the background. The rooms were all large, with marble pillars, elegant sweeping curtains, and grandiose decorations. The operation bespoke charm and the type of affluent lifestyle available only to the very rich. And, like it's polar opposite, the Gomorrah, it had an air of disquieting unease. Behind the facade of politesse lurked danger. People who felt as such generally had very good instincts. The house which ran the Ultra Luxe were the White Glove Society. A group of peculiar personalities all of whom insisted on wearing masks when in public. There were darker reasons for their odd behavior, however. Secrets which jessica happened to know, having done some digging, but which were held back from the general public.

"I've never been in here…" Gloria told her uncertainly. Her eyes narrowed. "Are we going to the Gourmand? No one gets in there."

The Gourmand, their restaurant, was almost always nearly empty. The White Glove Society much preferred to keep up the air of mystery and high-class dining. They accomplished this by padding the waiting lists, and more often than not, simply denying entry to potential customers who they judged to be unfit. They were human, though. And as such, they could be manipulated. Jessica had never been denied entry. As a challenge to herself she had tried, and succeeded in, talking the diner into serving her companions, one of whom was a supermutant who wore naught but a loin cloth and a straw sunhat. As it was, she didn't expect any problems as she led Gloria through the sophisticated casino, and to the front desk which was manned by a smartly-dressed, mask-wearing member.

"Good evening, Miss Chase." He said, "Welcome back to the Ultra Luxe."

"Thank you." She said courteously, "I'd like a private table at the Gourmand, if you would be so kind…"

The man took one look at the disheveled weapons merchant behind Jessica, and said: "I'm afraid the waiting list-"

"Does not apply to Mister House's representatives." Jessica interrupted smoothly, "Nor their guests." _I can go where I want, and you're going to be happy to let me._

"Quite right." The man said after a moment's hesitation.

Jessica gave him a grateful nod and proceeded into the restaurant itself. The cathedral-like space was full of empty tables, a few of them occupied by select customers. Giant red drapes hung from the white marble walls. Thin lattice structures separated some of the tables, providing the illusion of privacy.

Both women were ushered quickly into such a booth. A man sped forward, one arm folded neatly behind his back, the other poised at his side, a white cloth draped over his forearm. He slowed as he approached, his manner growing irritated as he eyed the disheveled weapons merchant. Nonetheless he did his best to hide his distaste.

"Good evening, Madam. Madam." He nodded to each of them. "Welcome to the Gourmand. How can we serve you today?"

"I'd like your Brahmin Wellington and a bottle of red wine for the both of us." Jessica said. She turned to Gloria. "You?"

"I um…" If looks could kill, Jessica wouldn't have lasted a minute; the weapons merchant was out of her depth, tired, nervous, and had no idea what she' been caught up in. Perfect.

"May I advise today's special, Madam?" the Waiter prompted.

"That sounds lovely." Jessica told him, playing the bubbly socialite card for all it was worth. "What is it called?"

"Brahmin Pot Au Feu." The waiter intoned.

"Not… Steve, then? Or Paul, possibly?" Jessica asked, giving in to temptation. The waiter's white mask only just managed to hide his scowl. She let out a light, disarming laugh. "My apologies, sir. That joke was in rather poor taste."

The Waiter nodded uncertainly. He wasn't sure whether or not she'd actually apologized, or let another joke slip past him. Gloria's gaze oscillated between them, confused and angry.

"Sure." She said, trying to match Jessica's style, and failing miserably, "I'll have the pot ow foe."

The waiter grimaced at the horrid mispronunciation, but took the order nonetheless, and hurried away.

As soon as he had passed out of earshot, she furiously turned on Jessica. "What's this about? Why did you drag me all the way to the Ultra Luxe? What does House want this time?"

"This is a business dinner." Jessica replied in soothing tones. "Mister House just wants a guarantee."

"Of what?"

"I assume you are familiar with The Kings?"

"A bunch of children who never managed to grow up!" Gloria snapped, "What about them?"

"In a short amount of time, they'll be moving up in the world." Jessica said. "Mister House wants a guarantee that the Van Graff's will not move on them."

"Not a chance."

"Pity." Jessica said sadly, the threat in her tone was unmistakable, and it gave the weapons merchant pause.

"My family has operations all over California."

"I have no doubt they do." Jessica said evenly, "and by all means, send a runner out. Send them a message. But they aren't going to get here before my employer's army does. I normally don't try and take the hard line, but here's the simple truth. If you move on the Kings at any time in the next few years, House will wipe the Silver Rush from existence. We aren't opposed to your current operations. By all means, keep selling, keep making money. Just don't get in anyone's way, and don't get any silly ideas."

"That's it?" Gloria glared at her. "All the threats? Just to tell us not to do something we haven't even planned yet?"

"Yet?" Jessica asked mildly.

The conversation came to a sudden, screeching halt, and Gloria found herself backtracking. "That's not to say we would have ever planned anything like that at all!" She managed.

Jessica raised an eyebrow, prompting the woman to elaborate: "Look, we run a good business. We want to keep running a good business. Gang wars make for bad business. And even _if _we were planning it, you couldn't move on us." She leaned across the table, and Jessica caught a whiff of the woman's stench. She had not showered in quite some time.

"House's position clearly isn't as secure as he thinks," Gloria announced gleefully, "or he wouldn't be asking the kings for help. If he wipes out the Van Graffs without good reason-"

"But we do have good reason-" They both stopped as the food was set down in front of them. Jessica thanked the waiter, and daintily started into her Brahmin dish. Steam, and a delicious scent poured off the glistening meat. Gloria stayed still, waiting for her to finish. Jessica took her time in chewing, and after she had swallowed her first mouthful, she said, "We do have good reason: all those smuggled Plasma Casters. And god knows what else…" She smiled at Gloria and neatly skewered a piece of meat with her fork.

Gloria's triumphant look had disappeared, replaced by uncertainty. She shook her head slowly as Jessica continued eating. "Not even then. Noone would believe that was the reason. They'd all know that House just wipes out those who disagree with him. Noone likes tyrants."

"Not even if _I_ were the one who told them?" the Courier asked, retaining her knowing smile. "Eat your food." _It's delicious! I promise you'll enjoy it…_

Almost of its own accord, Gloria's fork found the nearest vegetable, and crammed it into her mouth. She stared down at her own treacherous limb, even as she finished swallowing the mouthful. Then the taste overtook her and she began to shovel the meal into her mouth as fast as possible. It quickly became obvious just how much she'd suffered while locked away in the Silver Rush.

"You want to know an interesting fact about this place?" Jessica asked as she picked the last of her own plate clean, "They used to be cannibals…" _'used to be'…no one believes they've stopped. I've seen it! With my own eyes! Watch what you eat here! And who you talk to. You just might…disappear._

Gloria turned pale as she stared down at her empty plate. Jessica dumped a number of caps on the table and rose to her feet. "The rest of the houses will believe anything I tell them. House is better liked than you. I know because i worked hard to get im there. No one would shed a tear if the Van Graffs disappeared. Enjoy your stay here. And remember, Mister House and I are watching."

* * *

**The Speech checks in New Vegas fascinate me. In reality it has never been that easy to sway minds. But any character with 100 speech and 10 charisma seems to be capable of nearly anything. They'd have to be almost supernaturally good at putting ideas in other people's heads. And at conveying far more information than the actual spoken words possibly could. **

**I also can't believe that other characters wouldn't acknowledge this strange ability.**

**I've hit another wall with Jackrumn's section of Aqua Vitae. I hope this satisfies in the meantime while i work it over.**

**Anyway, Happy Trails.**


	6. Chapter 6

Swank sat in his office, bored silly. He hadn't realized just how much paperwork was involved in running the casino. Yet again, he felt a stab of sadness and regret over Benny's death. The man had somehow been able to surf the piles of wage dockets, bar tabs, receipts, and other detritus involved in running the Tops Casino. Swank was itching for a break. A handy distraction arrived in the form of Tommy Torini, the one-eyed theatre manager, who burst breathlessly into his office, bearing unwelcome news:

"Sir, she's doing it again…"

"_Again_?"

The black man shrugged. "She worked up a two-hundred cap bar tab."

* * *

A large crowd of gamblers had gathered around one of the blackjack tables. Swank was forced to push and elbow his way through to the dealer. The man was sweating in discomfort. Only a single gambler sat across from him. She was dressed in a weathered, yet comely courier's duster. It was sleeveless, and had a large black spades symbol on the back, with the number 21 emblazoned over it in yellow letters. She herself was a stunning woman with emerald eyes, pale skin, and long black hair. The crowd fell silent, waiting for him to speak.

"I'm pretty sure we banned you a month ago." Swank snapped, catching her attention.

"Did you?" she asked, her slender fingers idly tracing the cards.

"Yes!"

"Oh…" she gave a tiny disappointed sigh, but showed no signs of moving.

Swank look at the enormous stacks of chips at her elbow, then at the crowd, who was watching the unfolding events. He recognized the hunger in their eyes, and admitted to himself that even after she'd broken the bank the last time, they had made back double on all the other gamblers who figured they'd inherited her hot streak. She had Lady Luck on her side, and if even half the stories were true, then winning at cards was hardly any risk at all in comparison to some of the other stunts.

The blackjack dealer carefully laid down two queens. Diamonds and Spades. The crowd, buzzed on Jessica's lucky streak, cheered. Swank glared at them. They waited for a moment, and she let the suspense build a little.

"Split." The Courier ordered, smiling knowingly at the dealt hand.

The dealer glanced at Swank for permission. He nodded, but tried to look disapproving while he did it. Staying that negative in front of such a rowdy crowd wasn't a good idea, as they wouldn't be on his side if he decided to end the show. Customers could be lost…

The queens were parted and one card was laid upon each. A six of diamonds, and a five of clubs.

"I'll take the six." The Courier decided, "Hit me."

The dealer laid down a four of spades. The crowd groaned again. A band of supermutants could not have parted them from the spectacle. There had to be close to seven thousand caps on that table.

"I'm all in." She said, gently tipping the towers, letting the chips spill tantalizingly across the green felt surface.

"All in…" the dealer murmured, looking shocked.

The courier smiled. "Is it too late to double down?"

"Absolutely." Swank snapped. "Take your winnings and-"

He was cut off by boos and jeering. The dealer looked to him uncertainly, not wanting to be caught on the crowd's bad side. All noise ceased as a set of keys landed on the table beside the mountain of chips. The people at the back of the crowd craned their necks to see what was going on.

"The Tops High-Roller Suite." Jessica said quietly, her eyes locked on Swank. Another set of keys landed beside the first. "The Bon-Vivante Suite key."

"Not enough." Swank said, trying to call her out.

A third set of keys landed beside the first two.

"And what does that unlock?" Swank asked sarcastically.

"The Sierra Madre." The Courier answered without missing a beat. The crowd burst out laughing.

"Nice try." Swank replied, pushing the dealer out of the way. He picked up the deck and began to shuffle. "But I want something more substantial than ghost stories."

She sighed and rummaged in her pocket, pulling out a fourth set of keys. She laid it down on the table with a certain amount of ceremony. "The Lucky 38."

Every eye fell upon the polished metal trinkets.

"Bullshit!" The dealer exclaimed.

"So call my bluff." The woman leaned forward, her curtain of dark hair falling across the table. She looked the dealer straight in the eye and said, "So call my bluff."

Swank noted the way the crowd had suddenly backed away a little, as if afraid they'd be struck by some ungodly power if they ventured too close to Mister House's personal property.

"Can I double down?" Jessica prompted.

Swank nodded, staring down at the keys.

"Sir, if we lose, we break the bank." The dealer reminded him.

"And if you win… you get the Lucky 38…" The Courier replied. Swank found himself hypnotized by the idea. He envisioned himself at the head of an army. All the tribes of the Mojave gathered under the banner of the Chairmen. And himself at the top, holding off the NCR with one hand, and bravely leading his flock, tending to his nation with the other. He'd be regarded as a hero. An Idol. More…

He nodded.

"Excellent." The Courier grinned. "Hit me."

Swank licked a finger and looked down at the top of the deck, wondering what the next card was going to be. The future of Vegas depended on it…

He pulled it out and laid it face down in front of the courier. She carefully turned it over to reveal the ace of spades. An excited murmur passed through the crowd. as everyone stared down at the house's hand. A king was visible though, but that wasn't important. It was the unknown card.

A chill swept through Swank as he realized that the small slip of paper lying facedown on the spotless green felt held the future of the entire Mojave in its grip. The Courier smirked.

"Flip it!" an anonymous spectator shouted to general approval.

Swank met the Courier's emerald eyes. "Lady Luck is on your side."

"I call her Miss Fortune." She replied evenly.

"Whose?" Tommy Torini asked, grinning at the entire situation. She threw him a sultry wink. Tommy showed a distinct lack of sympathy for Swank's plight. He managed the Aces theatre, and if The Tops' bank broke, _he _wouldn't be the one out of a job.

The Courier looked back at Swank. "Feeling lucky?"

Swank growled at her and flipped the card to reveal the queen of diamonds. The dealer groaned. Swank stared hollowly down at the card, willing it to be an ace.

"Let's see…" the Courier said triumphantly, sweeping all sets of keys off the table, "That's twenty for you, and twenty-one for me…" She reached down and separated out four fifty-cap chips, pushing them to the dealer. "Your tip." She pushed another four at Swank. "_Your_ tip." Another handful was placed lovingly in the hands Tommy Torini. "_My_ bar tab." She picked up one last chip and slipped it into her pocket. "And one for good luck. Keep the rest."

"Baby, I gotta know," Tommy asked, "Did you really just bet us entrance to the Lucky 38 in order to pay your bar tab?"

"Oh, that key does unlock some very interesting rooms." Jessica said with a half-smile, "Just not the front door." She turned on her heel and walked away, hips swaying hypnotically.

"You bitch!" Swank screeched, unable to contain himself. "You _bitch_!"

Jessica turned. The crowd had parted, forming an aisle between herself and the table. She pulled out a casino chip and flicked it with her thumb. The chip arced through the air, spinning rapidly, end-for-end, until bounced off the surface of the Blackjack table and came to rest on top of the ace of spades.

"Ring-a-ding, baby." She said.

* * *

**Call this an interlude. I just broke the new vegas bank in my play through, and felt like doing an over-the-top gambling chapter. I'm pretty sure I covered it, but if I got the blackjack rules wrong, let me know.**

**Chapter 21 of Aqua Vitae is about half-way done.**


	7. Chapter 7

Pro Posterus 7

Jessica had called in Boone and Raul for help with the fiends. Veronica was not in the mood. EDE-E was useless for planning, and Lilly had gone back up north to Jacobstown. Arcade were in Freeside, giving money to the Followers, and while Jessica trusted both of them, nothing could beat the experience of neither the sniper, nor the ghoul, though she was getting distracted by Boone. She couldn't help notice the way he would glance at her whenever he thought she was focused on the map. He hadn't mentioned their previous conversation, but it was obviously still weighing very heavily on his mind.

"So let me get this straight," Raul said in his deep mexican accent, "We have to take down a group of raiders who are all hopped up on drugs, and dug in tight as a tick in a vault?"

"We can't take the Securitrons inside with us, either." Boone said, his normal moodiness gone in the face of the challenge. He leaned over the rough vault blueprints which Jessica had drawn from memory. "They won't be able to fit through the interior doors."

"Doesn't matter. All they have to do is shut the door…" Raul reminded him. "We can't break through. They can wait us out. The vault is stocked with food and water for centuries…"

"They'll tear themselves apart as they sober up…" Boone said. "They don't have an unlimited supply of drugs."

"What about that entry ramp?" Jessica said. She was leaning on the table with her chin on her arms, staring blankly across the white paper. "It's narrow, right? We can like, get them there and kill them all."

"It is a killzone. That's true." Raul said carefully. "And how do you plan to get them all out of the vault?"

Jessica's face fell. "I didn't think of that…"

"Maybe we can destroy the water purifier…" Boone suggested.

"Or vent poison through the air ducts." Raul replied, nodded.

"That would be a massacre though." Boone winced. "Especially if we have Securitrons backing us up…

"The pendejos can die in the vault, or die on the ramp. This isn't about playing fair…" Raul replied. "The problem is getting inside to begin with. They aren't exactly friendly to visitors."

"I can get inside." Jessica said. "They already think I'm a drug leader working for the Great Khans…"

"The Great Khans went north, remember?" Raul reminded her.

"I didn't." She answered shortly. "I go in, looking for work. I offer to run their goods through the Strip. I wander the place. Get into the air purification system, and pump in our poison…"

"Yes, it's always a good idea to saw the branch you're sitting on…" the ghoul said. "What about the angry fiends? No offense Miss Chase, but you aren't the best shot in the world."

"I can handle myself." Jessica replied. They both raised their eyebrows and she shrugged. "Usually. Look I've been through a lot and I'm not dead."

"What about the Poison?" Boone asked.

"Hold that thought." Jessica told them brightly. She slipped out of the commissary and across the hall into her own room. There was a weapons locker sitting at the foot of the bed. She knelt before it and lifted the lid, pulling out the stash of rifles and dumping them on the ground beside her. She cleared the chest and stared inside. Sitting at the bottom was a weather-beaten box. With a delicate, almost ceremonial air, she carefully lifted it out and placed it gently on her bed. She lifted the second lid. It was empty aside from a gas mask and a small note bearing no more than a set of coordinates and three words:

_Courier Six- Ulysses_

She stared down at it, remembering his hypnotic voice, and poetic manner. She felt a small amount of regret, and wondered how he was doing. There had been something about him. An inner fire which seemed to consume everything it came in contact with. She had managed to talk him out of nuking the NCR, just barely. And he had elected to stay behind and do what should have been her task. Her penance: watch over the Divide, the only place where the earth joined with Hell. He was a capable fighter, a loner, and, to her at least, a complete enigma. The only puzzle she coudlnt' unravel, and the only person she had encountered who was more compelling than her. He was far more intriguing in his own way than anything else she had encountered in her travels.

She picked up the gas mask and turned. Boone was standing in the doorway, watching her. She quickly closed the box and stowed it away in the chest, piling the weapons on top. She waved the gas mask. "Found it."

"Where did you get that?" he asked suspiciously.

"From a friend." She replied, slipping past him to join Raul back at the table. "Not important. I can wear this and sit in safety while all the fiends die from the poisoned gas."

"You'll be in there with them." Boone said. "Are you sure you want to risk it?"

"I'll be fine." Jessica assured him. "I'll just lock myself in a room, barricade the door, and wait a few hours until you guys can come in and get me out. Simple."

"No plan survives contact with the enemy." Boone replied.

Jessica waved her .45 pistol. "That's what this is for."

* * *

"Jessica, this is unexpected." House said as she took a seat in front of him. "I did not summon you."

"Are you busy?" she asked.

"I am always busy, Jessica. Even when I'm talking to you. But I can spare a few minutes."

"I'd like to speak with you about Gomorrah." Jessica said, glancing past his screen at the moonlit sky.

"What about it?"

"I'd like your permission to threaten Cachino if he doesn't treat his prostitutes better." She waited calmly as the thought ticked over.

"Absolutely not." House said firmly.

"But they're treated like shit." she began. "They're basically slaves. Almost no income, forced to work, sometimes at gunpoint-"

"The Gomorrah accounts for sixteen percent of all my monthly accumulated funds." House cut her off. "Those whores are what generates the funds, more than their casino. That money is ear-marked for paying the Crimson Caravan company a starter's fee to trade with the northern Zionite tribes and Great Khans in exchange for wood. Until the Free Economic Zone has another source of income, I will not make any threats or suggestions either way. Things will remain in this steady state until we can _afford_ to change them."

"You're going to let those girls suffer in exchange for wood from a tribe they've never seen or heard of?" Jessica asked hollowly.

"We need the wood to make coal to work the furnaces and start up the industrial sections west of the strip." House explained patiently, "The Crimson Caravan Company cannot obtain that wood until the fiends stop raiding their caravans. If you really wish to help those girls, I suggest you deal with the fiends. The sooner, the better."

"I consulted with Boone and Raul. We came up with a plan." Jessica said, "But who's going to work the industrial sector."

"The West Side residents in exchange for food from the Sharecropper farms. Their internal communal farm is a pathetic mess, and it will not supply them."

"Another thing you want me to talk them into…" Jessica sighed. "Do you always think of the big picture?"

"I'm building a nation, Jessica." House replied. "I can do it no other way. Some people have to suffer for the sake of progress. It is not just, nor is it in any way fair. But no nation was built on justice."

Jessica heard the sound of a trundling Securitron. She twisted in her seat to see Victor the robot wheeling up to them. It paused and brought its clawed hand up to where its brow would have been in mechanical tip of the hat. "Sir, Ma'am. I'd like to report that Arcade Gannon and Rose of Sharon Cassidy are standing outside the door with Julie Farkas of the Followers. They are requesting permission to enter."

"Enter _with _Farkas?" Jessica asked, a little stunned. She had given very straightforward and firm instructions that no guests would be allowed into the Lucky 38.

"See to this, would you, Jessica?" House asked. His screen went blank.

* * *

Julie confronted Jessica almost the moment she stepped out the door. The woman was a short, tidy person who wore her hair in an eye-catching Mohawk style. Over their dealings, Jessica had grown to like and respect the woman. Though she was well-mannered, adn cared about her patients, somewhere underneath her timid exterior was an iron wall. She could be very… forceful…at times, which had no doubt helped the Followers no end.

"I know what this is!" She said, striding forwards. Cass and Arcade were standing behind her, looking rather sheepish. "We aren't puppets! You think House can just throw money at us?"

"If you don't want it, we can take it back." Jessica replied, taken aback. "There are plenty who need it. We just felt that the Followers were an honorable, trustworthy organization qualified to know exactly who, and how to distribute it. It's not a gift. And we're not trying to buy your loyalty. We expect you to use this money to pay for drugs and equipment. If we find it isn't being put to good use, we will take it back."

Julie stared.

Jessica sighed. "Mister House is dealing with many, many issues, one of which is providing the Free Economic Zone with a decent healthcare system; vital for any prosperous society. Mister House and I are examining many options, but the Followers are quite high on the list. We would very much like to work more closely with you." Jessica knew that in every good lie, lay single grain of truth. The Followers really were House's only option, but Jessica wasn't about to let Farkas think she had any real power in the conversation.

"What other options." Julie said suspiciously.

"I know where there are a large number of auto-docs." Jessica said, thinking of her hellish experience at the Sierra Madre. "We could put them on the street-corners, and eliminate the Middle-man." The second part was a complete lie. The Sierra Madre was not a place to go scavenging. Not with the Free Economic Zone's apparently limited resources.

Julie's eyes gleamed with sudden excitement. "Where?"

"That is Mister house's affair." Jessica said. "As it is, we'd much prefer to work with people. Some time when the Free Economic Zone is prospering, we can bring them in. In the meantime, however, we'd prefer to work with you."

The woman sighed. "We need something more substantial than cash. Sterilized operating rooms. Better equipment. Things like that."

"I'll see what we can do." Jessica told her, "But right now the cash is the best we can give you. Take it or leave it."

Farkas left on her own, with the money. The Freeside thugs knew enough to leave her be lest they were denied access to the Follower's care in future.

Jessica ushered Cass and Arcade inside. "I know Farkas is an ally," she said, "But as I said before, no guests. Right now Mister House still has his all-powerful untouchable mystique. The moment someone aside from us steps into the Lucky 38, that vanishes. Understand?"

"The Followers are allies, though." Arcade replied. "We should be more open."

"Allies, certainly. Employees, not yet. They want a crack at Mister House. I was asked to plant a bug when I was first invited into the Lucky 38."

"Did you do it?" Cass asked.

Jessica nodded. "Mister house found it a few seconds later and disabled it. As it is, I'll work with them, but I don't entirely trust them. Anyway we need to get prepared. Get your armour and weapons."

"Wait, why?" Arcade inquired.

Jessica smiled grimly. "We're going to wipe out the fiends."

* * *

**I'd like to give a shout-out to Krow Blood for basically *being* mister House. All of the Free Economic Zone's problems and solutions are his ideas, although he was actually *for* saving the prostitutes.**

**I'll admit to being a fan of Courier/Ulysses pairing, and wished there was more of it here. Unfortunately the Modus Operandi series has them both tied up. Not romantically, necessarily, but in terms of plot.**

**Next chapter is the fiends 'battle' and aftermath.**


	8. Chapter 8

Pro Posterus 8

The attack had been very carefully planned. Jessica had twenty minutes before Boone and Raul rolled in with the Securitrons. They had done a number on her, dressing her in worn traveler's clothes. Her voluptuous hair had been worked over with dirt and grime and stuffed underneath a ragged rattan cowboy hat. Unfortunately there was nothing they could do about the looks, which, while useful on the strip, were actually a detriment when speaking with the more uncivilized parts of post-apocalyptic society; men had very simplistic views about what should be done with women as pretty as Jessica.

Jessica reminded herself that her mission was not all that much more dangerous than walking into Caesar's camp alone, and then felt worse.

Ulysses' mask was hung about her neck, and slung across her left shoulder was a bag containing an assortment of chems. Not enough to satisfy a mob of drug-addled bandits, but with a wide enough variety to demonstrate her drug-smuggling prowess. The gas itself, backwards-engineered from several jars of Cloud residue, was sitting in several plastic bottles at the bottom of the pack. It was unremarkable enough, and if questioned, she could always fall back on 'just a new formula I wanted to try'.

The vault was easy enough to get in to. She already had a reputation there as an excellent drug dealer, and the fiends around the entrance gave her no trouble. All she had to do was drop their leader's name: Motor-Runner.

The man was considered to be the sanest of the fiends. He was certainly sane enough to survive three different assassination attempts and transform the erratic rage and psychotic methods of the Fiends into a fighting force capable of threatening the NCR. As drug-addled homicidal killers went, he was relatively pleasant to talk to. He kept the swearing to a minimum and was not only capable of stringing words together into complete sentences, but then also of forming those sentences into paragraphs. By fiends standards, he was an absolutely brilliant thinker. Even Jessica, with all her colloquial prowess, was careful around him. The man had a knack for recognizing liars.

She couldn't help but feel apprehensive, standing in his throne room. His chainsaw was lying on the floor beside him, and his two dogs lay on either side of her. She made the mistake of looking one of them in the eye. It let out a short growl which told her on no uncertain terms that it was capable of, and looking forward to, tearing her throat out. She kept her face blank, though, and ran the plan through her head again:

She knew where she was, and where the maintenance room she needed to get to was. By sheer unfortunate coincidence, Motor-Runner's throne was in the maintenance section of the vault, only a few wrong turns away. Vault 3 was certainly a tangled enough complex to justify her getting 'lost' to any of the other fiends, but that sort of excuse wouldn't pass by him. She would just have to hope the poison did its job before he figured out what was going to happen. And it was too late to turn back now. Even as they spoke, Boone, Raul, and the others were probably making their way through the ruins.

"I remember you." Motor-Runner said, squinting at her. "The drug runner? The one with 'Special Access'? How is Diane"

Jessica gave him a pleasant smile. "Gone. Along with the rest of the Great Khans."

"I know." He said. "My people are getting fed-up with the back-alley Freeside shit. It don't measure up."

"Then it looks like you and I can do business." Jessica told him. "I know a few people who want to break into the Chem trade. They do damned fine work."

"Their names?"

"You don't need to know that." She replied. "Especially not with House and his dogs sniffing around. The less information, the better."

"We ain't big enough to bother House." Motor-Runner snapped.

"No, but you're big enough to bother the Crimson Caravan Company. Who do you think employs them? You're on his hit-list. Make no mistake."

He glared at her suspiciously. "You know a lot about it, eh?"

"I have to." She said. "How do you think I've managed to avoid his purges? Or the NCR's crackdowns? I have a few samples with me. Try them out. If you don't like them I'll be on my way. I have other customers."

He sighed. "Alright. Let's see'em."

Jessica unslung her pack and pulled out a selection of Chems, laying them out on the floor for him to see. He leaned down and selected an inhaler full of jet, lifting it to his lips.

"No, not that one!" she warned. The object had been marked with a yellow strip on the side. Arcade's idea. "That one is poisoned."

Motor-Runner stared at her, and then down at the inhaler, noting the yellow band. "Poisoned? Why the fuck…?"

"It's a deterrent in case anyone ever tries to rob me blind or screw me over again." Jessica said, letting a little manufactured bitterness creep into her voice. The trick wasn't to disclose past history, but rather to simply imply that it existed. None of the samples she'd intended to show him were actually poisoned. There was also far too much traffic around his throne room. Someone was bound to notice if he slouched over dead. There was no point in taking the risk. Not when the Cloud would kill them all anyway.

The man set the object down, looking impressed. Jessica handed him a different one, lacking the unique marking. He took a puff and leaned back, pupils dilating. It was fine quality stuff, she knew. From her own personal stash. She never touched recreational drugs, if she could help it, but they did occasionally come in handy during negotiations of various sorts, and a supply was always helpful for situations such as these.

The man lay back in his chair, letting the initial rush pass through him. He shut his eyes and let out a long, relaxed breath. Jessica watched him carefully, pondering how easy it would be for her to simply pull out her .45 and shoot him in the head. She could kill him, she knew. But then she'd have to deal with his two dogs, not to mention fighting her way out of the vault.

"Well?" she asked.

"More." He murmured. "Come back with more."

"So we can do business, then?"

"Yeah…" he said, cracking his eyes open. "Leave the samples."

"I'll let you enjoy yourself." She turned on her heel and marched out, stopping in a secluded corner to check her pipboy's map. The fiends gave her no trouble as she made her way further into the vault, to the other side of the maintenance wing.

After two minutes' searching, she spotted the appropriate door and was surprised to see that a guard had been posted there. It wasn't anything more than a momentary delay, but it showed that the fiends were thinking on a level slightly higher than she had been giving them credit for. If nothing else, it proved that Motor-Runner had been a relatively competent leader. Thankfully, the guard looked like exactly the sort of man who would answer correctly only four times out of five when asked the question 'What is your name?'.

She walked up to the man and unslung her pack, pulling out a corked bottle of something Arcade had termed 'Voodoo'. The blonde scientist had told her it was a lethal dose, five times the regular. Motor-Runner would have recognized it instantly. This man, however, was wearing the glazed expression of one who had never quite possessed the necessary faculties to think before he acted. The Fiends were where such people ended up. She uncorked the bottle and handed it to the bleary-eyed raider saying "Free sample?"

He took it immediately and downed it without a second thought. Ten seconds later blood began to flow freely from his nose, and he dropped to the floor, either dead or soon to be. Reflecting on the ease of the kill, she quietly hacked the terminal he had been guarding and opened the door. She could hear sounds of alarm spreading throughout the base behind her, prompting her to hurry. Gunfire echoed faintly through the deserted halls, accompanied by cries of rage; Boone, Cass, and Raul had arrived. A little too early. It was time to hurry.

She opened the door and slipped inside, pulling it tightly shut behind her, and locking it. She slipped the gas mask over her nose and mouth, taking comfort in the fact that it had help Ulysses through the divide.

Now… what had Arcade's instructions been?

The room was relatively empty. A tables and a few chairs. A row of lockers sat against the wall to her right. Scraps of paper and some clipboards lay scattered across the floor, and a bank of computer terminals and equipment had been set up along the back wall.

Jessica stared at the unfamiliar banks of equipment and spotted the air intake. Initiate emergency duct purge, Arcade had said. _Right._ She dropped her bag and pulled out a bottle of Cloud residue, opening it up and placing the bottle beside the enormous grill. Even from a fair distance away, the fumes stung her eyes, and she could smell faint traces of it through the gas mask, bringing back horrific nightmares of the haunted Sierra Madre casino and the ghoulish hordes protecting it.

How she had survived that ordeal, she had no idea. Fighting had never been her strong suit. She had always managed to talk her way out of situations before they got that far. Her strengths lay in other areas: her intelligence, her looks, an almost sociopathic ability to manipulate other people. She was good with medicine, and technology too. Today she was certainly putting _that _particular skill to use.

She hacked into the air system maintenance terminal and activated the emergency purge. Immediately, the slow horrible haze which had been spreading through the room whirled and twisted, writhing as it was sucked through the grill and spread into the rest of the vault. Jessica smiled under her mask and moved fast, opening the other bottles and placing them beside the first. The screams had intensified, some turning to moans, most to horrible, hacking coughs.

A sudden pounding on the door made her jump. She turned, cold ice slithering through her. She felt for her .45 and pulled it from the holster on her hip. She pointing it at the closed portal, breathing hard through her mask. This was a waiting game. Whomever was trying to get in had about three minutes before the Cloud killed them, or forced them out of the vault.

She watched as the door's latch was tried, and privately thanked god that she'd had the foresight to lock it. It stopped moving for a moment, and then began to make the slower, subtler rotations; it was being picked.

A moment later it swung open, sending a thick rolling wall of fog into the room, obscuring her view. Jessica fired several shots, feeling the kickback shaking her arm. She could hear growling, and the patter of approaching canine feet told her exactly who had picked the lock, and how long she had left to live.

Jessica dove backwards onto the steep bank of consoles just as one of Motor-Runner's dogs burst from the cloud, leaping for her throat. She swung with the butt of her pistol, hitting it in the neck as it fell upon her. The blow managed to knock it off-course just enough so that it missed her neck. It's teeth caught the gasmask instead, tearing it from her face, and sending them both crashing to the cold vault floor. She inhaled reflexively and felt the burn as the Cloud entered her lungs. An old pain at this point, but one she had never forgotten.

Doing her best to hold her breath, Jessica scrambled madly for her pistol, tearing her fingernails on the pitted concrete surface. She found it and fired four rounds into the recovering hound's flank, just as it's brother tore into her calf. She shrieked, feeling pain lance through her, and emptied her pistol blindly at the second vicious mutt. There was a yelp, and while the pain didn't stop, it ceased to grow. She struggled to her knees, trying to piece her situation back together.

She never got the chance. The sound of a revving chainsaw filled the small room and she forced her one good leg to propel her forward. The fiend's chainsaw slammed into the thin plastic housing and metal frame of the computer bank above her, cutting it to chaotic ribbons. Jessica rolled onto her back and crawled backwards as fast as she could, searching for any other weapon. Any means of defense. Her pistol was empty, but she still had the presence of mind to hold onto it. Damn House! Damn Robert Edwin House and damn his fucking plans! And damn Motor-runner too!

The fiend proceeded after her at his own leisurely pace. She could make out the man's angry silhouette through the Cloud. Blood was trickling from his nose and mouth; a sign of what the gas was doing to his lungs. But it didn't even seem to be slowing him down. The fiend's chainsaw growled, as if hungry to tear into her.

"You're House's bitch, aren't you!" the man snarled, lunging forward with the chainsaw, aiming for the soft tissue of her abdomen. Though it didn't really matter where he hit. As soon as the pinning blade touched her it would all be over. Jessica rolled, narrowly dodging the swipe. She half limped, half crawled away as fast as she could towards the door. She just managed to make it underneath the table before the man lunged again. With a deafening shearing noise, the chainsaw ate chewed ravenously through the tabletop, stopping inches above her face. It began to tear a long line down the center of the table as Motor-Runner set about blindly dismantling the pathetic barrier.

The delay bought Jessica seven seconds, which she used to reload A Light Shining In The Darkness. She brought the trench sights to bear on the faint outline of the man's knee, barely visible through the pain and the burning read mist. She flinched as he struck again, cutting away a quarter of the table and very nearly tearing her throat out.

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the sound of a hunting shotgun. Clearly Motor-Runner wasn't the only Fiend left alive. How the hell had the man survived the gas?

She pulled the trigger, and watched as his knee exploded, blood and cartilage spewing in all directions. The fiend howled and dropped to his knees. His chainsaw landed beside him. Its spinning blade bit the cold concrete and snapped, sending bits of hot metal shrapnel flying around the room, embedding itself in the electronics, the locker doors, and the concrete walls. Jessica unloaded the second clip into the dying fiend, finishing him off.

The Cloud was doing its devilish work; her own vision was fading fast. There was only so long one could hold one's breath. Only so long one could keep conscious against the burning gas, especially with eth pain of an added wound, and the physical exertion of such an adrenaline-fuelled fight. Jessica crawled desperately across the floor, trying to reconstruct the layout of the room, and the events of the fight. Blood was flowing freely from her wounded leg, leaving a wet trail behind her.

Where was the dog? The dog had torn Ulysses' mask off.

_Find the dog, find the mask! Find the dog, find the mask! _

She desperately repeated the mantra to herself, feeling blindly for the consoles.

_Find the dog, find the mask! Find the dog, find the mask! _

_Find the dog, find the mask! Find the dog, find the mask! _

The gloriously smooth plastic of the computer station met her fingertips and she worked her way along the floor just in front of it.

_Find the dog, find the mask! Find the dog, find the mask! _

_Find the dog, find the mask! Find the dog, find the mask!_

Her hand hit patched fur and leathery skin. Her tear-filled eyes shut tightly against the stinging gas, she felt her way up to the dead animal's slack jaws and patted them deliriously, feeling for the leather straps of the mask. But all she felt was her own blood, matting down the animal's fur.

_The wrong dog…_

_Damn!_

* * *

***Three-Dog's voice* Iiiiit's FALLOUT WEEK! With a long-overdue update to this, and hopefully more to come. I'm planning more of Mutatis Mutandis, too and maybe even a little Genesis as well. Down sick with the flu, but that gives me time to write. Not much else to do, so stay tuned, kids.**

**It's been a long time since I last updated this story (since before Aqua Vitae was finished). I'd nearly forgotten this fic in the face of Aqua Vitae and Mass Effect. Thankfully a reader named ****Krookodile553**** reminded me.**

**Yikes, chainsaws are scary. This should be a nice contrast to the Suave, smooth-talking Femme Fatale chapters which came before. It's been a while since I wrote a really gritty fight scene. I forgot how FUN these were…**

**For me at least :/**


	9. Chapter 9

Pro Posterus 9

"Here."

Boone stared down at the proffered gas mask being shoved under his nose. His cold gaze traveled up the arm and met the friendly, helpful smile of Arcade Gannon.

"It's for the gas." The scientist explained. "Jessica said there'd be gas.

Boone took it silently and fastened it on, glancing around the courtyard. Cassidy and Arcade had both chosen to accompany him and Raul. Between them and the three Securitrons, the fiends had never stood a chance. They came storming out of the vault in groups of three and four, without even being pushed by any poisoned gas. The Securitrons would open up fire and create and impassable barrier of solid lead, tearing their bodies to shreds. The sound of bullets puncturing exposed flesh was a constant droning noise, and slowly the pool of blood and dismembered humans began to collect at the bottom of the ramp. Near the beginning, Boone had been carrying a hunting shotgun. He'd held it at his shoulder, opening up at the first few fiends. But eventually lowered it. There was no way he could match the raw power of the Securitrons' miniguns. Raul and Arcade followed his example, staring in silent horror at the carnage building up at the base of the ramp. Cass held on the longest, but even she was eventually forced to lwer her rifle and stare in disgust at the carnage below.

Shame and anger filled him and he winced, taking a step back; this wasn't a battle. It was a slaughter. As one-sided as such a thing can be. There was no honor in it. No justice. He shut his eyes tightly in defense as the memories of Bitter Springs bobbed to the surface. At least this time the bodies were adult-sized…

"Stop it!" he ordered, turning to the nearest Securitron.

"No can do, compadre" it said in a cartoonish texan accent. A caricatured cowboy face appeared on its monitor. "I'm afraid only Miss Chase can order a halt to operations."

"But this isn't a battle!" Boone argued.

"Battling ain't the point, compadre. House wants'em dead'n'buried."

A dense, oily fog began to drift out the entrance, expelling another wave of raiders crawling desperately over the bodies of their comrades, trying to escape the gas. The Cloud, Jessica had called it. A single raider woman actually managed to scale the bodies, rise above the smog, and reach a patch of concrete as yet untainted by blood. The Three Securitrons adjusted their aim accordingly. The woman screamed, staring pleadingly at him, shuddering in silence as chucks of flesh fell away from her body and back into the cloud behind her, landing with muffled splashes. The life faded from her eyes and she fell backwards, sliding down the ramp until she was swallowed by the gas.

Looking for a distraction, Boone's mind shunted itself sideways, to Carla, his desert flower. Her laugh, her face, her raven black hair- suddenly he was watching it through the scope of his sniper rifle. It blew in the wind, whipping back and forth as he lined up his shot.

His thoughts shunted themselves sideways again, settling on Jessica and her golden voice. The one that always somehow managed to make him forget everything. How many times had he sat with her. Watched her. _Listened_ to her…

She was so much like Carla. The two of them were so similar… he often wasn't sure about which one he was thinking about. Or which one had had fallen in love with.

A lack of noise brought him back to the present. Smoke rose from the red-hot barrels of the Securitrons' miniguns. Apparently the flow of Fiends had stopped.

The middle robot rolled backwards and turned to him, giving him an awkward salute with its thick arm and pronged hand. "All done, sir."

"Any sign of Jessica?" Boone asked.

"None yet." He frowned and strode past the robot, stopping at the edge of the ramp.

"Well that was easy…" Raul said, standing beside him. The Ghoul blew on a pair of six shooters and spun them into their holsters.

"Yeah…" Boone replied, glaring at the dark portal beyond the pool of ichor.

"There're probably still a few stragglers left in there." Raul added.

"Yeah…"

The Ghoul eyed his human counterpart and grinned. "And the deathclaws wearin' party hats."

"Yeah…" Boone agreed distractedly, eyes narrowed at the entrance, watching for any sign of movement.

Raul laughed and shook his head. "She's really got a solid grip on you, eh pendejo?"

"Yeah…"

The ghoul laughed and walked away. He was replaced a moment later by Arcade. The scientist was rocking back and forth on his heels, clicking his tongue occasionally. He glanced at Boone, then at the portal. Then back at Boone again. "How's it going?"

"How long has she been in there?" the sniper asked.

"Since we arrived? A few minutes. Five? Six, maybe?" Arcade shrugged. "She has her gas mask. This was her plan."

"She's been in there a long time." Boone observed.

"Well maybe she's just making sure the vault is clear." Arcade reasoned. He gave Boone a sideways, teasing look. "Maybe she's trapped by a band of Fiends and needs rescuing."

Boone growled, pumped his shotgun and started down the steep ramp, his combat boots finding purchase on the concrete despite the thick blood.

"I was just joking, you know!" Arcade added.

Boone ignored him.

"She'll be in the Maintenance section!" the scientist called out in frustration. "Damn it, Boone!"

* * *

Boone fought his way through the burning red mist, trying to keep his footing on the slick, blood-covered floor. The vault was filled with a cryptic silence, bereft of life. His panic grew with every corner he turned. The vault was a huge complex, and while he had a rough idea of the layout, having spent an hour pouring over her rough sketch.

"Jessica!" he called out, searching the hallways. The image of the beautiful woman's head exploding played itself on his inner eye again and again, torturing him. He wasn't going to let it happen again. Not to _her_.

He found a T-intersection with a sign pointing to 'Maintenance'. He darted down the indicated hallway as fast as he could, keeping his shotgun ready in case any of the fiends had managed to avoid suffocating. He didn't know whether any of them actually had gas masks. If they did, it was probably for the looks more than anything else.

His diligence was rewarded when a howling figure leapt out from the first door he opened. The man was swinging at him with a tire iron. Boone dodged to the side. The iron implement slammed in to the wall, and Boone felt a piece of concrete ricochet off his cheek. He didn't give the man a second chance blasting the fiend in the gut, severing his spine and covering the room behind in a fine red droplets.

Boone stepped through the doorway, following his collapsed opponent. He performed a quick scan of the room, and moved on, finding it empty. Somewhere in the complex, he could hear the sound of a chainsaw going off. He picked up his pace.

* * *

He opened the final door, and spotted the unconscious woman slumped over the carcass of a dog.

"Jessica!" he rushed forward, sliding to a halt beside her. She was breathing, barely. Her eyes were fluttering, and she was murmuring to herself. Nothing coherent. Just delusional noises. Moans. Blood was seeping from her nose, and running out the corner of her mouth and down her cheek in a thin trickle. Her leg had been torn up, probably by the dog, and her mysterious gasmask was nowhere in sight.

"Jessica!" he said loudly, trying to wake her. She stirred slightly, but fell back into her near-comatose state. Boone glanced around the room, taking in the broken Chainsaw, ruined table, and dead fiend. He looked back down at her and brushed a wisp of hair off of her cheek, staring at her luminous pale skin, her long dark lashes and full red lips. The sight made his heart ache, bringing back the joy of those quiet nights he'd shared with Carla, back when he'd had a future.

And she was lying before him now, Helpless. Suffocating. Bleeding. He wasn't about to lose her again.

"Hold on!" He took a deep breath and held it, tearing off his own gas mask and fixing it firmly over her nose and mouth. Then, expelling a small amount of breath as he huffed with effort, he picked her up. Then he turned around and headed for the entrance as fast as the burning in his lungs, and the dead weight in his arms, would allow.

* * *

Arcade stood at the top of the ramp, pacing furiously. It had been another six minutes since Boone had rushed in. Most of the time, Arcade appreciated the stoic sniper's presence. But sometimes…

He shook his head.

Boone loved Jessica. Everyone knew it. No one dared say anything lest they the tip of his rifle be the last thing they never saw, but they all knew it. This wasn't the first time he'd done something impulsive trying to save her life. There was that incident with the Cazadores. And the Legion hit squad…

Arcade could not really blame him, either. Jessica was an intriguing young woman. She was beautiful, persuasive, and had a brilliant scientific, technical, and diplomatic mind. She could barely fight to save her life, but that was okay in the Mojave. The skills she did possess were far more useful.

While he could certainly understand Boone's attraction, Arcade was a homosexual. Not a problem, but he was immune to some of her more obvious charms. He stayed even so. Somewhere inside her, Jessica Chase did have a heart. She kept it under wraps, tempered by realism and directed by House, but it did exist. Anyone else who possessed her skills would have been perfectly happy to rise to the top. To talk every faction, every guild into forming one giant cult. A utopia, or a dictatorship, perhaps. But made around her and in her image. And Like the Legion, it would promptly collapse upon her death or disappearance.

Jessica wasn't like that. Instead of pushing the machine aside, or destroying it, or trying to build a new one, she used her skills to grease the wheels. To direct it in a way that was best for as many as possible. Hers was a very general code, and a slippery slope. But she'd so far managed to unite the entire Mojave under House's banner. Through her voice, the man had driven off both the Legion and the NCR, and ushered in what was presumably going to be a new era of peace. Arcade had no problem with Peace. Civilization _was _peace.

Besides, Arcade liked Jessica. He enjoyed working with her, and was more than happy to continue doing so.

He was also horrified to watch as Boone emerged from the tunnel with Jessica unconscious, and cradled in his arms. Her leg was torn up, dripping with blood, and he could see more caked around her mask, though as he looked he realized it was Boone's mask.

The man himself was stumbling, half-dead. When he coughed, flecks of thick red blood would land on the ramp ahead of him. It was a horrible, throat shredding cough. The sort which would eventually lead to one's lungs being torn apart.

"Jesus Christ, Jess!"

Arcade looked to the speaker at his side. Cass was there, making her way down the ramp towards the former soldier. "Here we go." She said as she reached her target. "Give her here, Boone."

The sniper recoiled as if stung, and clutched the prone woman closer to him, staring at them both with an oddly blank expression. Arcade slid down the ramp and joined Cass, feeling the fiend blood soaking through his pants, staining them up to the knees, and collecting in his socks and boots. He took a step forward and touched the sniper on the arm. "Boone, she's hurt. She needs medical attention. I'm a doctor. Let me help."

Boone's grip tightened further. Arcade winced; Jessica's torn leg was hanging dangerously close to the blood-drenched pile of corpses. The longer she was down here, the more likely the chances of infection. But Boone wasn't listening. The man's eyes were bloodshot, likely sore and stinging form the noxious fumes. He was probably delirious.

There was another splash as they were joined by Raul, who took up station on Boone's other side.

"Boone, please. Let her go." Arcade asked again.

"Carla…" the sniper said faintly. Blood was trickling down his chin. Clearly the gas had done its work. Arcade glanced at Cass and shook his head. She sighed and stepped forward. She wound up and gave the sniper a ringing slap on the cheek, one which sent him backwards into Raul's waiting grasp. Arcade managed to tear Jessica's limp form away from them, surprised by how heavy the woman was. Cassidy picked her up by the legs, gripping her thighs, and together they managed to get her up the ramp and laid out in the clean fresh air, away from the rotten mess.

Arcade tore off her gas mask and checked her vitals. The woman was unconscious, but breathing. The best way to let her lungs heal was to flush the gas out of them. The only way to do that was to let her breath. To that end, he loosened her clothing a little.

He turned his attention to her wounded leg. It looked as though a dog had gotten the best of her, though what its bite had torn was mostly muscle and sinew. It had missed her major veins and arteries, thank god.

He pulled out his canteen and washed the wound as best he could. Cassidy was beside him, pulling out some stimpacks and bandages. Arcade grabbed a bundle and stuffed it into the open wound. "Pressure here." he ordered.

The caravaner obeyed in concentrative silence. Arcade waited a few minutes, counting in his head. Boone and Raul had made their way up the ramp. The sniper was on all fours, coughing like mad. Giving his mask to Jessica had been a very deliberate choice on his part, and he was certainly paying the price.

After he felt enough time had passed, Arcade cleaned the wound again. He replaced the blood-soaked cloth with a fresh one and fixed a bandage over it. Then he plugged a stimpack into his patient's upper thigh to speed up the healing process and hopefully help prevent any infection. It was a field dressing. Good enough for travel at least. There wasn't much else he could do. Not in the middle of the southern ruins, anyway. He needed to get her back to the Lucky 38.

"Victor!" he called out.

One of the Securitrons rumbled up, bearing the cartoonish cowboy's face. "Howdy? Is the missus gonna be alright?"

With Cassidy's help, Arcade hoisted Jessica up into the arms of the robot. "Mind her head." He ordered. "Be gentle."

"Y'all can count on me!" Victor responded, cradling the unconscious woman.

Arcade nodded at him and walked over to Boone, handing the Sniper back his gas mask. "That was a brave thing you did." He said.

Boone didn't answer. He just pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket, slid them over his eyes, and started after the trundling robot.


	10. Chapter 10

Pro Posterus 10

Jessica woke up coughing. She sat bolt upright, gasping for breath, unable to resist the tickle in the back of her throat. Her lungs ached madly, but at long last, she was able to open her eyes.

"Would you like a glass of water?" A voice asked.

She snapped to the side. Arcade Gannon was sitting on a chair beside her bed, looking tired but pleased.

"How long…?" she asked hoarsely. She cleared her throat. "How long have I been out?"

The scientist shrugged. "Two weeks?"

"What happened?" she asked.

"Boone went in after you. He's already recovered." Arcade explained quietly. "He's in the cocktail lounge… staring out the window as usual. Hasn't said a word since he laid you down here."

Jessica stared, shocked. "He…"

"He saved your life." Arcade repeated slowly, as if speaking to a small child.

"Yes, I understand that. I just… why?"

Now it was Arcade's turn to stare. "_Why_?" he parroted carefully. "Are you sure you're feeling all right, Jessica?"

The young woman took a deep breath and smiled at him. "I'm fine." she said patiently. "Thank you for all your help, Arcade. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome." He replied, eyeing her with a worried look. His expression changed suddenly as her remembered something which had been bothering him since he'd learned of Jessica's plan. He dug through his pocket and held up a vial of the Cloud residue. "Jessica?"

"Mmm?" she rubbed her throat tenderly, staring blankly into space.

"Where did this come from?"

"Sierra-" she paused, coughing violently into her shoulder. Her throat burned with the sensation, and she felt tears well up in her eyes. "Sierra Madre."

"The Sierra Madre doesn't exist." Arcade pointed out.

She didn't answer him immediately, but instead sat back against her headboard, trying to resist the infuriating tickle in the back of her throat. She said, "Yes it does."

Arcade slowly looked back at the vial, and then sighed and tossed it onto the bed, where it left a small wrinkle in the sheets. "Sometimes I get the sneaking suspicion that we aren't actually a team…"

"Not my choice to go without you." She replied.

"Well what happened?"

"Later." She said distractedly, "Where's Craig?"

"Cocktail lounge." Arcade said again, "Where he always is. But drop in with Cassidy first. She wanted to talk with you."

* * *

Jessica found Cass sitting at the kitchen table, opening a bottle of whiskey. The caravaneer tipped her hat at Jessica and poured them both a drink, then sat back and put her feet up on the table. "Helluva job, Jessica."

The Courier nodded and downed the shallow glass in one gulp. The drink burned going down, but she felt cleaner, somehow.

Cass was watching her with predatory curiosity. "I saw what Boone did." A slight smile played upon her lips. "If I didn't know better…"

"I don't want to get close to him." Jessica said a little too quickly. She stared into the glass. "He thinks I'm Carla."

"C'mon!" Cass scoffed, "He ain't that stupid."

"No he's just…" Jessica shrugged. "Confused? Carla and Bitter Springs really left him lost. I didn't side with the NCR, and yet he's still around."

"Yeah… I haven't figured that one out myself yet." Cass muttered, pouring herself a second drink. She held it thoughtfully and looked back up at the courier. "You think _you're _the reason he's staying?"

"Does that make me arrogant?"

"As hell." Cass affirmed. "But not necessarily wrong."

Jessica sighed. "It's not good for him, being here. It's useful for _us_, but not good for him. I'm not the sort of person who would just… take advantage of someone like that."

"You like to _think _you're not." Cassidy corrected teasingly. "But when the chips are down…"

"Look, he either has to leave, and keep mourning Carla, or move on from her and stay." Jessica said, tapping a tattoo on the edge of the table to emphasize her point. "As long as he's around me, _and _remembering Carla, he's going to keep hurting."

She sat back and rubbed her throat nervously. "I just don't know how to make him stop."

"Jessica Chase without an answer…" Cass grinned and tipped her hat. "That's a first."

"I should just tell him to leave. I should tell him to go back to the NCR. It would be best for both of us." Jessica said.

"So why don't you do it?"

"Because I'm not sure he'd listen, and… and I want him to stay." She felt herself going slightly red.

"Well why don't you simply kiss him?" the older woman suggested.

Jessica stared.

"You aren't his wife." Cass explained. "He'll realize that the moment you two start Doing The Dirty. Either he'll choose you, or he'll realize what the problem is. It'll force him into a choice."

"But what if-"

"There are no 'what if's here."

"There are _always _'what if's, Cass." Jessica said, though the idea had taken root in her mind, and wasn't letting go no matter how hard she tried.

"Not here, there aren't." The caravaneer said, shaking her head. She took another shot of whiskey and wiped her mouth. "I've been watching the two of you make eyes at each other since I joined up. Just go and do it. What are you so afraid of?"

Jessica shrugged. "That he won't choose me? I want to do what's best for him, but I don't want him to leave…"

"And what if that _is _what's best for him?"

"Well then…" Jessica sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I don't know…"

"Is it any better than him staying here and constantly torturing himself with guilt? You know he doesn't like working for House. He's staying for you."

"He's staying for his _wife_. If I sleep with him, it'll be out of pity, and _he'll_ be sleeping with _her_, not me."

"There are plenty of worse reasons to fuck." the older woman responded, unfazed.

"And there are plenty of better ones!" Jessica replied firmly.

"Like what?" a Cheshire grin spread across Cassidy's face "_Love_? What, are you fifteen?"

"Not love!" the courier snapped. "Just… respect. If he wants me, that's fine. But if it's just residual feelings for Carla…"

"Well you'll never know until you try." Cass challenged. "For the record, if I were him, I'd pick the living over the dead."

* * *

Jessica found him in the cocktail lounge, exactly where Arcade had said he'd be. She approached him cautiously, but he knew she was there. She could tell by the way his shoulders tensed.

"Craig?" she asked, not quite sure how to proceed.

He turned. To her surpise, he wasn't wearing his sunglasses. His cold eyes were exposed to the world.

"You saved me." She said quietly.

"I wasn't going to let you suffocate." He said shortly. She searched his face for a moment. She'd never actually encountered a situation like this before, and she had to admit that the man did not look particularly open to intimacy in _any_ form, however mild.

She gave up and closed the distance between them. She laced her fingers through the cropped hair at the back of his head, and pressed their mouths together.

Shocked, he stiffened, but she kept up the gentle pressure, deepening the kiss until all at once a dam seemed to break. One hand slid around her waist, the other snaked right down over her bum and gently pressed her in. His own mouth opened at the same moment , and she found herself fighting for breath. She gave up, eyes fluttering shut. Oxygen was an overrated thing anyway…

It occurred to Jessica's muddled brain that if this went as far as Cass thought it might, Jessica would probably end up being a disappointing bedmate. Not that she wouldn't do her best, but that particular part of her mystique and reputation depended on playing the unrealistic expectations of her marks. It was easy to hint and tease the moon and stars when she didn't actually have to deliver, and when she made no promises. She just hinted, and let their own imaginations fill in the blanks. Most of the time, she didn't even have to hint. They'd start the moment they laid eyes on her. On the rare occasions when she's had to use that particular aspect of her skill set, she'd string her marks along until she got what she wanted. But in the short time since she'd woken up in Goodsprings with no memories at all, she had always managed to finish the job without … well… finishing the job. Not even with Benny.

But now Boone was kissing her furiously, his powerful hands gently forcing the two of them closer than they'd ever been. It felt fantastic. The man's passion alone was sweeping her away, and she let herself begin to respond in kind, adding her own friction. She felt him groan in response, and the hand pressing them together released some pressure, letting her do the work. Even as things began to rapidly progress, she felt growing discomfort; as if she were a leaf being swept along by the wind. She wasn't in control of the situation, and it scared her immensely. She wasn't even sure how much time had passed since she'd initiated the kiss. The man let out an almost animal growl as he engulfed her with his arms, pulling her even closer – how _in hell _was that possible?- and cursing the cloth defenses keeping them apart.

"Craig…" she moaned quietly as he move on from her mouth, his lips scorching a trail across her jawline and down her neck. The man's hands moved to her sleeveless duster, forcing the supple leather down her shoulders.

"Carla." He replied, equally as intoxicated by the contact. Ice shot down Jessica's spine. She'd been half-expecting the reply, but the fact that the man leapt away from her like a scalded cat did not make her feel any better about it.

They stared at each other, each unsure of what to do next, and Jessica watched as he put all of his walls back, sealing himself off just as fast as he'd opened up. He straightened, taking a few steps backwards. His mouth, which a few seconds earlier had been making her weak at the knees and sending shivers down her spine, had formed into a thin impassible line. But it was the way he was watching her which hurt the most. Something was missing in his gaze. Something which had always been there before: affection. He wasn't hostile, just… distant. Unreadable, which for Jessica, was a strange event.

"Boone?" she asked quietly. The man's shoulders stiffened slightly.

"Craig…?" she tried again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" she died away into silence.

"Leave." He told her. "Please. Just go for a while."

"Are you going to be here when I get back?" she asked.

He didn't answer. He just turned and kept staring out the window.

"Don't leave." She said. He didn't move a muscle.

Breathing hard, Jessica stared at the man's tense shoulders. She swallowed, glaring at him, and adjusted her uniform so that it sat properly on her shoulders once again. Her skin seemed both burned and soothed wherever his careful hands had touched it, and she could still taste him on her lips.

She turned on her heel and marched back towards the elevator. She spotted Cassidy leaning against the wall, watching both the courier and the sniper. An empty glass was held in one hand, and a half-full whiskey bottle was dangling easily from the other. The older woman had an infuriating smirk on her face; she'd seen it all.

"You're a bitch, Rose of Sharon Cassidy." Jessica snapped as she passed by, stomping into the elevator.

"Hypocrite." The woman grinned at her, pouring herself another glass of whiskey.

* * *

Jessica stepped out onto the Strip. She was fuming, though she wasn't quite sure why. She certainly understood Boone's choice. The man was loyal to his wife, and that was honorable. Jessica was not about to criticize him for that. However a part of her had honestly thought the man would cave. She felt a little insulted and more than a little ashamed. She wanted an escape for a little while. Not sex or drugs. Booze possibly, though she'd had so much practice at drinking that it had begun to lose its effectiveness as an emotional anesthetic.

Her thoughts were shunted sideways by the sight of a familiar and very unwelcome tuxedo. It was being worn by a rather smooth looking ghoul with a pair of large, dark sunglasses. He was staring up at the enormous, burning Gomorrah sign. Jessica resisted the impulse to shout to him from across the street. That sort of thing wouldn't impress.

Not that she particularly cared what the ghoul thought of her, but if she played her cards right, this could be a lot of fun. The smarmy bastard deserved some payback, and now that the ghostly ghouls weren't trying to hunt her through the back alleyways of the Sierra Madre, she could finally put out some well-deserved vengeance. It would be a nice escape from her thoughts of Boone.

She waited patiently for him to enter the whorehouse, then followed quietly, shadowing him.

* * *

Every girl in the Gomorrah had her own tent, or room, depending on how much the clients were willing to pay. Her own space where she was allowed to take her clients and ply her craft in privacy and comfort.

Jessica knew them all. She had made a point of knowing them all. She shadowed him, lurking in the unseen corners of the casino as he played a few rounds of roulette. She waited until he had settled on a particularly voluptuous brunette. The girl's name was Betty, though most of her clients knew her as Felicia. Her room was on the… third floor, if Jessica remembered correctly.

With the brunette on his arm, the ghoul moved back to the roulette tables, which suited Jessica just fine. She had some preparations of her own to make.

* * *

Life was good, Dean Domino decided as he pushed the whore against the wall next to her room. It was true, he had come to Vegas for a very specific purpose, but that was no reason not to have a little fun…

He pressed himself into her, exploring every inch he could reach. The girl moaned in response. Probably a sound she had practiced in front of the mirror. Dean Domino was a ghoul, and acutely aware of just how repulsive he looked and felt. It irked him no end, but a few hours with the right woman could make that part go away for a while, and this one looked promising.

He pulled her forwards, fumbling for the doorknob. After an awkward moment, he found it and walked both of them into her small apartment, their mouths still locked together.

"Hello Domino." Said a familiar voice. The whore screamed and tore herself away from him, flinging herself to the corner of the room, but Dean was too busy remembering to notice or care.

That voice… A woman's voice. A wonderful voice. One that could make him forget all the troubles in the world. A voice he could listen to for hours and hours and never tire of hearing. A hypnotic voice. An entrancing voice. The first since Vera's to grip him and hold him under its sway so completely. He detested both it, and the bitch it belonged to.

Two comfortable-looking chairs had been set up on either side of a table upon which sat a burning candle, a bottle of excessively expensive wine, and two glasses. Another woman, far more beautiful than the whore, was sitting in one of the chairs, her legs crossed and hair bound up in a style which both epitomized, imitated, and mocked Vera's regular style. Dean hated the imposter for wearing it because no matter how much he thought of Vera, he knew that style would now belong to the brunette beauty sitting before him.

"Jessica Chase." He said in his smooth English accent. "So wonderful to finally see you in your element."

The woman glanced around at the whore's boudoir. She smiled again, nodding at the whore. "And you in yours. Tell me, Dean, why do you pick brunettes? Is it because Vera was one, or do you have some rather fond memories of _me_?"

Dean growled, but the woman was carrying a rather large .45 caliber pistol on her hip, and he wasn't certain he could get to her before she put it to use. Not that she had been all that good with weapons, as he recalled, but at this range, missing would be difficult. Even for her.

The brunette flashing him sultry smirk. She addressed the whore first. "Leave us, please. You'll be paid. Leave your name at the desk."

The whore nodded and hurried out, all too eager to leave the two alone together. The woman gestured at the other chair. "Take a seat," She said warmly. "I insist."

He moved forward and slid into the comfortable chair, damning the hypnotic qualities of her wonderful voice. He'd encountered them before, of course, and had been just as vulnerable then as he was now.

"Glass of wine?" she poured him a generous amount of the swirling red liquid.

Dean took it graciously. She had no reason to poison him, and seemed interested in talking. A small part of him, shaken to wakefulness by the moaning whore, wondered where exactly the brunette intended this rendezvous to go.

"So what brings the illustrious Dean Domino to Vegas?" she asked, taking a sip.

"Actually I came to find _you_." The ghoul admitted, knowing she was going to come out with some smart comment.

"I'm flattered. Though I suppose holograms and well-dressed skeletons make for poor bedmates…" Jessica mused.

Dean's glare intensified.

"Ego as fragile as ever, I see." Jessica added, noting his expression. She responded with infuriating indifference. Time was, women like her had been lined up around the block for him. No... not women like her. Women like the whore whose room they now occupied. But they had been beautiful enough, and _he_ drunk enough, for them to stand in for women like her. And women like Vera, too.

"Let me guess…" Jessica said thoughtfully. "I'd say you were going to try and restart your singing career."

"Among Many. Other. Things." He said through clenched teeth.

"Well I'd get in line now." Jessica said. "It's a long one, and you're not going to bypass it."

"I am Dean Domino, you pathetic strumpet!" He snapped said angrily.

"The Incredible Singing Ghoul!" Jessica continued his statment, as if reading from a grand marquee. "Don't worry, you get a gig here, your name will most definitely be in lights." Her smiled widened. "Along with the rest of the circus. Perhaps I can speed things up. I have a few connections here. I'll put in a good word for you."

Dean's ego was burning with indignation. He was painfully aware that he was losing his composure. That was unacceptable. His buttons were being pushed, and the harlot was enjoying it. He refused to give her the satisfaction. He set his glass down saying, "Are you always this unpleasant to your guests?"

"Only the ones who act unforgivably arrogant and rude to frightened, helpless young women in a time of dire need."

"Ah." Dean said, recalling their somewhat unfriendly partnership. Perhaps the brunette snake did have a point. But still… he was Dean Domino! He shouldn't ever have to put up with this sort of thing! Not from a trollop like her.

Jessica finished her glass and poured herself another. "So really, Dean, why did you come to New Vegas?

"Things are starting to happen at the Sierra Madre." He replied. "Christine Royce asked that I tell you. I thought perhaps you'd be interested. But if you're not…"

"I'm afraid not." She said shortly. "Not one bit. That place was a nightmare."

"You might be. What do you know of the Legion?" Domino asked.

"A little." The woman admitted carefully.

"Don't be coy, my dear." Dean snapped. "I know who you are. You're the Courier. House's Courier. And I assure you that if I'd known that during our little… misadventure… I would have behaved differently."

"I've no doubt you would have." Jessica replied evenly. "I guess the only thing that matters is reputation, yes?"

"In my line of business, certainly." Dean observed, picking up his own glass and taking another sip. It really _was _excellent wine. At least the woman had good taste. "Dead legion scouts have been found in the Sierra Madre."

"Have they?" Jessica said, frowning slightly. "Why? How?"

"I don't know." Dean shrugged.

"Perhaps they're survivors from the battle of Hoover Dam."

"No." Dean shook his head. "These are… scouts. Explorers. Some of them made it quite far into the city before the ghost people finally claimed them. And their Standard is different."

"How so?"

"It's black." Dean said, remembering the one the Brotherhood woman had shown him. "With a white Deathclaw's head in the center."

Jessica stared at him, her emerald eyes reflecting the flickering light of the candle.

There was a cautious knock at the door.

"Come in." Jessica called.

It opened to reveal the brunette whore. "Ma'am?" she said, her voice almost fearful. "There's a Securitron bot waiting for you outside the club."

"Is there?" Jessica mused. She turned to Dean. "I'm a popular girl. I'll have to go see what this is all about. I'm sorry to leave you here, Dean. But duty calls." She rose to her feet and turned. "Oh, and I wouldn't get up if I were you. No matter how uncomfortable that seat gets." She picked up her glass and added, "That cushion's just for show."

Dean glanced down at the plush red velvet between his knees. But the woman was already gone. At least she'd had the decency to leave him the bottle of wine. He shifted his leg slightly to feel for a possible mine.

The whore was watching his with a curious expression.

Well…if he were to go, he'd go in comfort. Dean sighed and unzipped himself. "Well? What are you waiting for, girl. Get on your knees.

* * *

**I know Dean Domino can't survive unless you treat him right. But I've always enjoyed the friendly hatred of the Courier's relationship with him if you don't kiss his ass. So call this a slight change to canon. I already saved Calvert back in Aqua Vitae, so here's another slight adjustment.**

**Also aware that in the last chapter, I was rather heavy-handed with Boone's character. Perhaps it was laziness, but at the time, I honestly couldn't think of a better way to put across my interpretation of his inner conflict. I had to get the chapter out. This story had been sitting idle for **_**far**_** too long, and I needed to move or lose it all. I do feel that it was explained far better in this chapter, so I'll leave it alone for now.**

**One day when I have less projects on the go, I might do a re-write. But right now, I just want to move forward with the story.**


	11. Chapter 11

Pro Posterus 11

Arcade was waiting at the bottom of the elevator. Jessica rarely saw the doctor in the Lucky 38's casino, and the sight was bizarre enough to set her on edge. The man's worried expression did not help. He approached her as soon as the Securitron showed her through the door.

"Jessica."

"What's going on?" she asked, frowning.

"Boone left."

Jessica stared, small bits of her mind momentarily fusing together.

"He wouldn't say a word." Arcade continued, "Just grabbed his rifle and walked out the door."

He stood still for a moment, watching her carefully. "What happened? Did you guys have an argument?"

"No! Not… not exactly…" she felt a surge of anger at Cassidy, and at herself. She shouldn't have pushed him. Cass wasn't exactly known for her good judgment during her whiskey-impaired moments. Why the hell had she listened?

Jessica couldn't lose Boone. The man had been with her nearly as long as Cass… if not longer. He was a pillar. A backbone of her team, and a valued friend, despite their rather complicated relationship.

"We have to find him!" she turned and found herself face to face with one of Houses Securitrons. How the thing had managed to get so close without alerting her was a mystery. She glared defiantly at Victor's cheerful face.

"Sorry, Ma'am." The bot said, its voice dripping with that southern twang. "Mister House would like to see ya now."

Jessica was about to argue, but the Robot's arms were held in such a way as to herd her towards the elevator. The bot's powerful pincers clacked together gently. She realized she didn't actually have a choice. She shot a pleading look at Arcade, who nodded and disappeared out the front door of the Lucky 38.

"House would like ta see ya." Victor said again, its voice as friendly as ever.

* * *

Jessica was shown to House's private suite. She trod the familiar path out the door of the elevator and down the stairs to the floor of his penthouse, where she crossed her arms and glared up at the face on the enormous screen.

"Ahh, Jessica, good to see you alive and well. How are you feeling?"

"I've been better." Jessica's leg stung a little. Arcade had apparently doused her in pain killers, or perhaps some sort of regional anesthetic. If it weren't for the PHOENIX Monocyte Breeder implants, she would have been in much worse shape. Not that Usanagi's implant had ever had any use on the battlefield, but it had certainly prevented her from bleeding out, and saved her life during both her time in the Sierra Madre, and the Divide. The lack of scarring was also a nice bonus for someone who often depended upon looking good. Not that any physical ailment was bothering her as much as Boone's departure.

"I'm not sure I understand why you didn't just have me kill off Motor-Runner quietly." She said. "I could have done that easily and walked out unscathed."

House was silent for a moment. Then he answered. "For the same reason I did not have you assassinate Caesar. Do you know the concept of martyrdom? A wonderful way to control the masses, let me tell you. When at war, the death of a leader can be either a great demoralizer or a rallying point, it all depends on the overall state of the war.

"When a war is going well, the death of a leader acts as a rallying point. On the other hand, if their leader dies when an army is nearly defeated, it causes the opposite effect: a crushing demoralization.

"Have you noticed how the fiends have gotten far wilder lately? Of course you have, you know I would not have allowed the use of my Securitrons for a small problem. When you convinced the Khans to move out of the Mojave, you eliminated the fiends' greatest drug supply. It's no surprise they grew desperate enough to cause _real _trouble.

"Without severely thinning out their numbers first, killing their leader might have easily caused them to go completely wild, targeting anything and everything in the wasteland. With Motor-Runner alive, they had a centralized nest. My Securitrons are powerful against a centralized force, but they cannot be everywhere at once, and we have too much at stake to engage in a time-wasting gorilla war with rabid bandits. It was more effective and efficient to wipe the Fiends out in one stroke. It has been dealt with, and we may now proceed to the next phase of this revitalization."

"While _dealing with it_, I nearly got my throat ripped out by a chainsaw." Jessica replied dryly, taking a seat. "Thank you for your concern."

"Jessica…" House said testily.

"I just…" She shrugged helplessly. "Sometimes I risk my life for this job. Sometimes my friends do too. A little more acknowledgment of that fact from you would go a long way."

"I am not here to coddle you, Jessica. We are building a nation, bringing our species back from the precipice of destruction and setting it back upon the correct course. This will always require risk. If you wish to be coddled, you should have sided with the NCR."

"Perhaps I should have." Jessica agreed, though her heart really wasn't in the retort.

"Don't be childish, Jessica." House scolded wearily, "It doesn't suit you. Is this about the sniper? My Securitrons witnessed him leaving."

"And you didn't stop him?" she asked incredulously.

"It was not my place. The Free Economic Zone is called 'Free' for a reason, Jessica. So long as they do cross me, or impede the march of progress, our citizens may do as they wish. That includes your companions, and I did not save this city so I could belittle myself arbitrating a lovers' quarrel."

"It wasn't a lovers' quarrel!" Jessica replied heatedly. "I just didn't want him to leave…"

House was silent for a long time. His face flickered off the screen, and was replaced by security footage of the cocktail lounge. Boone was standing there, facing Jessica. She watched herself confronting him, and the subsequent kiss. There was quite a lot of passion and hormonal indulgence being shown on the screen, by both participants.

Jessica felt herself go red. House had no eyes, but if he had, she knew he'd have been sizing her up. Reevaluating her. He said, "I have to say, I did not expect this from you. You of all people know just how dangerous base urges can be, Jessica. Those who suffer from them are easily manipulated. Easily tricked. Easily bought. Easily sold…easily killed. Best you rise above them."

She sighed and shut her eyes, counting patiently to ten. When she opened them, her voice was steady, and her gaze self-assured. "Of course sir," she said smoothly. "And how can I be of assistance?"

"Much better." House congratulated. "I have many plans, and much has happened in the past two weeks. The King has proven to be quite a negotiator in his own right, and he is working with the Militia to tend the Sharecropper farms. A few follower representatives are there as well, to see an even crop distribution."

"I'm glad to hear it. Arranging all that myself would have been time consuming."

"Indeed." House said. "The problem of feeding our nation has been solved, for now. However I have other plans which need attention. For instance, I want to revitalize the New Vegas Steel Processing Plant, and I need you to initiate the Lucky 38 Executive Override command to begin the process. You will have to go to the plant in person and enter the code. Be sure not to destroy any of the Mister Handy robots while you're there. They are my workforce… for the moment…"

"How will you get the raw materials?"

"We may strip it from cars, old buildings. It can be done. But I want to revitalize the quarry."

"It's inhabited by Deathclaws…" Jessica said doubtfully. "Where in hell are you going to pull willing workers?"

"From Jacobstown."

Jessica stared, reminding herself that this in fact was_ not_ the strangest thing House had ever asked of her..

"Supermutants?"

"Yes."

"And I'm supposed to convince them?" she asked flatly.

"You must. Only supermutants are strong enough to break the rock, only they are strong enough to carry. They are perfectly built for this work, at least until we get the old machines fueled and working again. I have the utmost confidence in your persuasive abilities, Jessica." House added calmly, sensing her hesitation. "This will be done."

Jessica laughed nervously, shaking her head. "I need an angle to play, sir. What's in it for them?"

"The work is a means to become valued and contributing members of a society which would otherwise throw them out. You may offer the protection of a full Securitron escort while they work, and protection for their town, should they wish it."

"Marcus might agree, but not all the mutants living under him are quite so friendly." She frowned, running over the time she'd spent in the cool shadow of those snow-capped mountains. Mutants aside, it had certainly been one of her favorite locales. "He isn't the only mutant with any power in that town. He's just the least likely to turn on us."

"So eliminate his competition."

"Assassination is not an option." Jessica shook her head. "He's an honorable supermutant, and he values the lives of everyone in his town. Even those who disagree with him. If we start meddling in Jacobstown politics, or killing any mutants, he won't help us. We need to prove to all of them that this choice is the best one, and they need to make it themselves…." She groaned, thinking the problem through. "We'd need to get Keene to agree."

"Keene?"

"Hostile nightkin, and Marcus' main antagonist. Has a lot of pull with the angrier mutants. If he and Marcus disagree, the town is split in half. If they agree, the entire town stands behind them."

"Can he be bribed?"

"Not with money." She rubbed the back of her neck thoughtfully. "Stealth Boys, maybe. But then you'd have problems keeping an eye on the nightkin. They'll also become more crazy and paranoid the more you give. It's a short-term bribe at best, and would have some very bad long-term consequences. It wouldn't end well."

"So how do we fix the problem?"

"Maybe… if Doc Henry's work were to succeed… but he'd need to make a major scientific breakthrough-" she stopped, excitement coursing through her. When one wanted scientific breakthroughs, there was only one place to go, but she still needed to know what to look for when she got there.

"Jessica?"

She rose quite calmly, considering the plan which was slowly taking shape. "I have to visit Jacobstown. Talk to Doc Henry."

"And the Steel Mill?"

"You have other human agents." Jessica told him, still staring into space with the same tightly focused expression. She had never seen any, but she knew they existed. "Get one of them to handle it."

"None are so effective as you."

"My skills are best spent on the Jacobstown problem." She replied patiently, heading for the stairs. "You know that."

"I do." House admitted. "And …Jessica?"

She turned and looked up at the screen.

"If the sniper matters to you, I will have my Securitrons keep an eye out."

Jessica licked her lips nervously and nodded. "I'd appreciate that, sir."


	12. Chapter 12

Jessica was actually quite fond of Jacobstown. The mountain resort was undeniably beautiful, with chilled fresh mountain air, a spotless sky, and a quiet atmosphere. It felt like a precious sanctuary. An escape from the hectic life on the Strip. New Vegas was one hell of a vacation spot, as thousands of tourists a month all rapidly discovered, but sometimes Jessica couldn't resist spending a few days away in a leisurely secluded area where life was lived at a slower, calmer pace. Nowhere in the Mojave could that peace be better found than in Jacobstown.

She was familiar with the route, of course, and had traveled it quite a few times. The majority of the Mojave offered no real danger to an armed traveler, and the path to the mountains had nothing worse than bighorners and the occasional roaming giant mantis. Jessica knew how to walk around Bighorners; wildlife in general offered her no real trouble. As for the mantises… ED-E's laser beams usually made short work of them. Jessica had elected to travel alone with the little robot this trip. After the incident with Boone, if it could be called an 'incident, she was not in any particular mood for _any_ company. Especially not Cassidy. And Arcade had left to find him. She hoped both of them were alright.

Jessica had felt helpless plenty of times over the course of her work as House's representative. The most notable examples could be drawn from the Sierra Madre and the Big MT, but it was rare she found herself lost in the realm of human relationships. She had to admit, sometimes she felt as confused about Boone as he did about her.

It wasn't love. She was fairly sure of that. Not on her side. Love was ridiculous. A blinding emotion, as damaging as it was liberating. She had seen its effects all too well; reducing otherwise sensible people to mere gibbering husks and starry-eyed slaves. Case in point: Dean Domino and Fredrick Sinclair, neither of whom had managed to get over one woman, even after centuries.

Perhaps it was… sympathy? Not the patronizing kind, she hoped. But Boone had suffered a lot, and she wanted to help him recover. She wanted him to learn how to love life the way she herself did. Watching him waste away staring out across the Mojave was painful to Jessica and everyone else on the team.

Perhaps she had been doing House's bidding for too long. Humility was not a familiar feeling, and she had thought that if anyone would ever have had a chance of helping him…

But apparently not.

* * *

"Jessica!" a deep, pleasant voice called out as she walked through the front gate. Heavy tromping footsteps heralded Marcus, the mayor of Jacobstown.

She turned and smiled warmly at the approaching mutant. He was enormous, his stature extraordinary even for supermutants, though his bizarre armour and eccentric goggled somewhat negated the effect. He was a very open and friendly individual; a higher class of person than most of the Strip's house heads. Jessica was unapologetically fond of him.

"I was thinking of you recently." The mutant told her, striding forward. "Lily returned after the battle of Hoover Dam. She had a few stories to tell. I'm glad you encouraged her to keep taking her medications."

"So am I." Jessica told him.

"She is already far better than when you first arrived." Marcus told her happily. He reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a battered volume. "We wanted to thank you, and I bought this from a trader in return for some Brahmin meat."

"A trader was willing to do business with Jacobstown?" Jessica asked, taking the proffered item.

"Doc Henry carried out the negotiation itself." Marcus admitted, "I hope that does not spoil the feeling behind the gift itself."

"It doesn't." Jessica said, taken aback. She looked down at the thick book. It had a cover dominated by a stenciled skull. The outer edges were patterned with red stripes. The sight was vaguely familiar to her, and it took her a moment to identify it: she had seen similar patterns on the bandanas of members of the Great Khans.

She turned it over slowly in her hands, reading the front cover first

_The Wasteland Survival Guide_

Lead Author and Subject Matter Expert: Jason Howlett

Assistant Author: Moira Brown

"The trader apparently spoke very highly of it." Marcus said approvingly. "It saved his life several times."

"Jason Howlett…" Jessica mused, staring at the name.

"I hope it isn't a scam." Marcus added. "I've heard of a few entrepreneurs already selling books about how to make it big on the Strip. Honest ways to beat the system. Perhaps this is something similar."

"There is no honest way to beat the system." Jessica said, opening the front page. The blurb on the inside cover made her scoff:

_This indispensable guidebook contains everything that a survivor in the wasteland could need to know. Every page contains a gem of brilliant insight into how to survive in the wastes, thrive among its denizens, and revive your survivor community. The spirit of vitality and determination practically radiates from the pages of this guide, and one cannot read it without feeling prepared for whatever the future offers._

"The House always wins." She added absentmindedly, wondering who in hell had the gall to write such a pompous and self-indulgent passage. Her respect for this 'Jason Howlett' lowered considerably.

"Indeed." Marcus smiled. "You picked your side well."

"I did." She closed the book with a snap. "Thank you for this, Marcus. I will put it to good use."

"You are more than welcome." The mutant said warmly. He stepped aside with a gentlemanly wave of his arm, and they started into Jacobstown. Jessica relished the feeling of her feet crunching on the thin layer of snow. She gathered her arms in; cold despite the shining sun.

She asked, "Has Henry's alternative turned out any useful results?"

Marcus' face fell. "I'm afraid not." He rumbled. "Keene is getting impatient again." He looked mournfully around the ring of tree-covered mountains. "I fear our peaceful time here may be drawing to a close."

"I may be able to help with that, actually." Jessica told him. "I hope I can."

The mutant gave her an appraising look. "As do I. You have a cure?"

"Not yet." She said smoothly, "But House and I have discussed your situation at great length."

Marcus frowned thoughtfully. "And your conclusion?"

"Jacobstown was created to get away from human beings, yes? As a refuge."

"Yes. We wish peace."

"You won't find it here, Marcus." Jessica told him. "Not lasting peace. I hope you understand that."

"I do." He said. "but we will hold out as long as we can."

"Lasting peace can come from one thing, and one thing only: integration."

Marcus came to a halt. He gave Jessica a careful examination . "Live among humans? That has not always worked out for us in the past, Jessica. I've witnessed it before."

"Mean Sonofabitch." She replied.

Marcus burst out in an infectious, rolling, bellowing, belly-shaking laugh. "You choose a poor example, Jessica!"

"I think he's a perfect example." She replied. "It's the principle I'm after. He's made himself useful to Westside, and so they tolerate him."

"Toleration is a far cry from integration." Marcus replied.

"And equally as far from extermination." She countered enthusiastically, a little of the Voice slipping through. The mutant nodded; it was a fair point. Of course it was a fair point. The Voice made it fair. She continued. "The road is a long one, and it's a slow one. And sure, _this_ generation of humans tolerates you. Barely. But the next one abides, the one after that, accepts. The third condones. After a while, no one knows the difference. Mutants live long lives, Marcus. Make yourselves a useful and necessary aspect of society _now_, and within a century, mutant and human will be able to live side by side! You won't have to run anymore! You won't have to hide here in the mountains!"

She watched him slyly. Marcus' face was contorted in the throes of deep thought.

"It worked once." She added, the Voice quietly sliding the example through a crack in his armour. "This is _Jacob's_ town, after all." _If a Brotherhood Paladin can turn…_

"Even if you were right…" Marcus said thoughtfully, "We would need a way in. A way to put our foot in the door."

_Even if you were right… _Jessica had won already. She just had to let the proverbial paint dry. The mutant was protecting his hand with that careful phrasing. Jessica had seen it all too many times before in negotiations. He didn't want to let her know how much he liked the idea.

"House is in need of an able-bodied workforce, capable of cutting and lifting stone." She suggested. "He wants the Supermutants to be contributing members of society. And he's aware of the risks involved. He's willing to offer Securitron protection for both Jacobstown and the mutants working in the quarry

"Alright…" Marcus challenged, "Say I agree… you'll still have to convince Keene."

"I know." Jessica said.

"You know what he'll want?" The mutant said it like a statement.

"A cure?" She guessed lightly.

Marcus smirked, caught between amusement and morbid curiosity. "If you're determined to follow this insanity through, I would only ask that you be careful. "

"Relax, Marcus." Jessica said soothingly. She smirked. "You can't beat the system honestly. That's why I play with a stacked deck."

* * *

Jessica tried to calm her raw nerves. Even at the best of times, Keene was unpleasant to deal with, and she wasn't entirely sure how any attempt to negotiate would be taken. As she sat quietly in his room, with the package of fifty stealthboys in front of her, she couldn't help but wonder if twenty minutes from now, anyone would be able to recognize her corpse.

Jessica had arranged Keene's room in advance. She had closed his blinds, and lit a few candles. It was actually a slightly suggestive setup. The sort she'd have used on a male human target. She doubted Keene would recognize that particular aspect, but it gave her a fair amount of desperately needed confidence.

What gave her more confidence was the rather uncomfortable fit of the Chinese Stealth Suit which she was wearing underneath her duster. The heavy yellow hood lying down her back was pulling the toughened material against her neck, choking her slightly. But she felt prepared. Showmanship was key. A good display, and half the battle would be over.

In the hall outside, wooden floorboards creaked, and shadows blocked the light slipping in under the door. There was a breathless pause, and it swung open, revealing the enormous mutant's silhouette. His grey eyes widened, taking in the stranger, and for a moment Jessica thought he might charge, but instead he took three enormous strides into the room and towered over her, glaring almost straight down into her eyes.

"What do you want, human?" he asked. Unlike Marcus' pleasant deep voice, Keene's was higher-pitched and had a very rough timbre.

"To talk." Jessica told him, letting out an inner sigh of relief. He hadn't killed her on sight; an excellent start.

"Bother someone else! I want nothing to do with you."

Jessica gently reached down to the small crate in front of her. She flicked the latches and opened it, revealing the carefully packaged stealthboys within. ED-E had carried the machines, and it had been the work of a moment to set them up in the nearest handy box. The mutant's gaze settled on them, and he let out a quick breath, his pupils dilated rapidly. Jessica recognized the look. She'd seen it in Freeside all too many times; a junky. The Stealthboys were addictive, no doubt about it. Keene reached forward, drawn to the invitingly open box. He stopped and withdrew with a hiss.

"Stupid human!" the mutant growled, advancing on her. He leaned all the way down until his face was a foot away from hers. She could smell his foul breath, and the leathery odor of his skin. "Don't you try and poison us!" He picked up one of the stealthboys and crushed it in his palm. Jessica couldn't help but visualize her own head in exactly the same position. She was well aware that the only thing preventing it was the mutant's shock at her unapologetic disregard for his privacy.

Keene continued, "You think you can buy me with these?"

"Don't insult me!" Jessica snapped, setting the mutant even further off-balance. "What kind of an idiot to you take me for? You're smarter than that. So am I."

"These hurt us!" Keene growled. "We will not wear them!"

"Unless Doc Henry finds a cure." Jessica replied evenly.

"He hasn't-"

"Yet." She gestured at the box. "These are for when he cures it. He'll install the upgrades on these models. House can get more."

"He hasn't cured it." Keene growled.

Jessica reached into the box and pulled out a second item, far less valuable, but infinitely more impressive: A proton throwing axe. Energy crackled along the curved length of the blade, filling the room with a strange hypnotic blue light.

The mutant took a cautious step backwards.

"Do you know where this is from?" she asked.

"Don't care." He grunted, staring at the sparking blade.

"It's a special place." She said, ignoring him. "Doc Henry would love it. Scientific breakthroughs, centuries ahead of anyone else." She fingered the head of the axe. "Healthcare, armour, weapons… and stealth technology."

Keene's eyes grew slightly. "Stealth?"

Jessica nodded. She tapped the edge of the box with the axe handle. "These are children's toys in comparison."

The mutant stared down at the box, then back up at her. "Why are you telling me?"

"Mister House wants a favor from the Nightkin. You help him rebuild the Mojave. In exchange, you will get your cure, and more…"

"I want to see more!" Keened rumbled. The mutant plucked the axe out of her hand and tossed it to the floor. "Prove you can get better stealth! Safer stealth!"

Jessica watched him calmly for a moment, letting the tension build just enough… and then, in her most sultry voice: "If you insist, Keene."

She rose from her seat and gently slipped past him into the middle of the room, holding his gaze. She pulled the yellow hood up over her face, fastened the small clamps, and ducked, activating the suit's stealth systems.

Jessica had spent a fair amount of time wandering the back halls of the Strip's many casinos. She had seen many secret things, both comforting and utterly bone-chilling. The experiences had given her a basic understand of how to move and operate stealthily, but she wasn't good enough, and the nightkin was still able to follow her precisely, even discerning the movements of individual limbs despite the ill-lit room. Jessica could see his expression very clearly, and he looked stunned.

She raised her arms and smiled, despite the fact that the mutant couldn't see her face. "No stealthboy."

Keene stared. Then to her amazement, he smiled. It wasn't nearly as pleasant an expression as it was when Marcus did it; Keene was clearly unused to stretching the twenty-six muscles involved in the action.

"We help House." He said, "You give the human doctor that suit."

Jessica materialized and threw the hood back, shaking her voluptuous hair out. "I'm glad to hear it."

* * *

It may have been possible to backwards engineer a prototype supermutant stealth suit, but a trip to the Big MT was still necessary. After all, the United States Government hadn't managed to do it when they'd been at their prime. If Henry couldn't produce some results, things would get worse than ever.

She found the old doctor sitting in his lab, off in the north-eastern wing of the former ski lodge. Calamity, his assistant, was not present, and Jessica could only assume that the ghoul was out collecting samples, or food. That was fine by Jessica, who had been hoping for a private conversation with the man.

Doctor Henry had struck her as crotchety at first, but he really wasn't. He was a scientist; as devoted to his work as he was determined to finish it. She recognized the type: Do or die trying, no matter the battle. They tended to earn her respect, however begrudgingly she gave it. He also knew Arcade Gannon quite well, and that did nothing but help.

The man heard her walking up and spun in his chair to confront her, watching her through his thick-framed glasses.

"Miss Chase," He said, sounding slightly annoyed at being pulled from his work. "Welcome back to Jacobstown."

"Thank you." She smiled.

The man turned back to the computer atop his desk.

She watched him type for a few moments before coughing politely. "How is your work going?"

"It would be much better without the constant interruptions." He replied, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Not you, by the way. Keene has been getting increasingly agitated. I'm always worried he's going to break something."

"And the research itself? Did you test the stealth boy on nightstalker brains?"

"Yes yes, I remember." Henry murmured, leaning into the screen. "I tried it. Thought I was making progress for a little while, but…" he shook his head. "Every time I think I'm chipping away at the heart of the problem, I'm just uncovering another damned outer layer! Half the time, I'm not even sure I'm looking in the right place. Things would be going much faster if I could do it without Keene's interference!"

"Have you considered a completely different approach?" she asked.

Henry turned, frowning at her. She had had quite a few good ideas in the past, and apparently had earned enough respect for him to listen. He asked, "What did you have in mind?"

"How about the Nightkin stop using stealthboys completely?" Jessica said, gently parting her duster to reveal the Chinese stealth suit beneath.

Henry laughed, taking no notice of the special equipment. "Yeah. Go suggest that to Keene. See how he takes it."

"I already did."

The doctor did a double-take. He frowned, taking careful note of her outfit. "And you're not dead… you have an alternative?"

She nodded, and performed the same demonstration for him that she had for Keene. She had a little trouble removing the hood, which had gotten caught in her hair, but it was impressive enough to leave him shocked, excited, and nearly speechless. "What the hell is that thing?"

"A stealthsuit." Jessica told him. "I want you to figure out how it works, and adapt it to work on supermutants."

He practically leapt out of his chair, moving towards her excitedly. Jessica slipped off the sleeveless duster, letting it fall to the floor. She felt a little awkward; it was a rare moment when a man was giving her body a close examination without sex on his mind.

After he was finished circling her, he stood back. "You are aware that the Stealthboys _are _an attempt to backwards engineer this technology, right?"

"Keene doesn't know that." She replied quietly. "It'll buy you time and resources at least."

"It'll stop Keene from badgering me, that's true." He admitted carefully. "But that's not the root of the problem. It's the mental issues I need to study. A different kind of stealth suit won't fix those already damaged, it'll just prevent any new cases. The real _fix_ is in the brain chemistry. Nightstalkers are my test group, but I don't know enough about them to make any real progress."

"I can help." Jessica replied immediately. Which one had designed them? Borous, definitely. No one and nothing else in the universe possessed quite that kind of insanity. What had the accursed building's name been? Z-something. Z-9? Z-10? She hadn't taken very careful note of the names, having been too busy running away from most of them.

She groaned inwardly; her guesses had been right. She'd have to go back. She said, "I'll leave this here with you, and be back in a few days."

* * *

It wasn't often that Jessica drank beer. She found it an unimaginative drink. However on the odd occasion, she found herself partial to a dry stout. The dark ales were always far more interesting than the light. Usually thicker and smoother. Unfortunately, they were also far harder to find, which made them far more expensive. But that didn't matter to her at that moment. House was fronting the cost for it, and she felt entitled to a few small perks now and then, especially considering that her next stop was the Big MT. A place where creature comforts were incredibly rare at best, and danger lurked at every turn.

She let the thick, cool liquid slide down her throat, soothing it. This particular brand left her with a rather bitter palate, but it was good going down and some sacrifices had to be made in a post-apocalyptic world. Her taste in ale had certainly surprised Cass, who had apparently assumed she would naturally gravitate to the lighter beers.

Her rather vapid stream of thought was interrupted by a visitor. He was a handsome man, she was forced to admit. Young, with a striking jawline and just enough stubble to add a little shade to his tanned cheeks. He would have been quite attractive if it wasn't for the air of calculated danger which seemed to freeze her in place as she watched him take a seat. She knew immediately that any physical confrontation would end in her death.

It was the way he moved. The way he saw without looking, heard without listening. The way he was aware of every movement in the bar, the fighter in him lying coiled and ready to strike on a whim.

And above all else, it was the way he covered it all up beneath his sultry, hypnotic voice, and spotless pinstripe suit. He reminded her, more than anything else, of Vulpes Inculta. He had the same air of evil subtlety. His voice possessed the same strange, dangerous and seductive mixture of purring feline and hissing serpent. Despite herself, she found that she was looking forward to hearing him speak, just as she had with Vulpes Inculta. The Frumentarius and she had shared a very peculiar form of mutual hatred.

The new visitor was wearing a pristine pin-striped gambler's suit, with a matching fedora, and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses with shaded lenses. That bothered Jessica, who hated negotiating with people when she couldn't see their eyes.

"Miss Chase…" the man said in a smooth, cultured tone. "So good to see you alive and well."

Jessica smiled at him. "And you, Mister…?"

The man's brow furrowed slightly, and she realized she had made a mistake, though she didn't know what it was yet. Cold, panicked sweat swept through her, and she fought to keep her breath steady.

He extended a hand regardless and she responded in kind.

"Burke." He answered, shaking her grip was confident and unyielding. Burke wasn't his real name, she knew. What she didn't know was whether he was hiding because he didn't trust _her_, or because he didn't trust the other patrons. Perhaps a combination of both…

In Freeside, _someone_ was always listening.

He motioned at the bartender, who poured him a shot of rye and backed away. The residents of Freeside knew danger when it walked in the front door, and the man stood out from the crowd. He didn't bother to pay the man, but there was no way the bartender would bring the subject up. Both he and Jessica had made out the subtle bulge under the man's lapel; 'Burke' was armed, and the precise nature of his movements also told them he was practiced.

He downed the drink in one gulp and turned to consider her. His voice had a slight whisper to it, like a snake in tall grass. It made her skin crawl. "We were worried you hadn't made it. Rumor reached us that you'd been shot in the head…"

"The man who did it missed anything important." Jessica said, raising her glass.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure enough." She answered carefully. The man studied her, and Jessica had the horrible feeling he could see right through her. She wanted to scream, to run. She felt as vulnerable as she had during the Sierra Madre adventure. This man knew her. He held _all_ the cards, and the worst part was that she didn't even know what game they were playing. Her mind was rapidly spinning into overdrive; she knew she had had a life before Benny's intervention, and she had tried on many dark nights to remember it, but those memories were gone. Yet this man seemed to know her…

Burke appeared to take no notice of her discomfort, which probably meant he was marking it very carefully. His gaze was still hidden behind those darkened lenses. His arm slithered across the bar and he grasped the neck of the rye bottle, pouring himself another shot. The barman showed a careful lack of interest. The man shot him a cold stare, and the barkeep backed away, giving both drinkers some privacy.

"The Good Doctor was very worried." Burke continued. "He lost quite a lot of sleep over you. It put his work behind schedule."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Jessica replied, playing along as best she could. "But it's nice to know he cares."

"He does." Burke intoned. "Never doubt that."

"Well you can tell him I'm doing just fine."

"More than fine!" Burke said with a calculated mixture of enthusiasm and suspicion, "How you managed to convince _Robert Edwin_ _House _to let you in…" he shook his head, lenses flashing in the harsh light of the bar. "I traveled all this way to find that my services may not be required at all…"

Jessica hesitated for a fraction of a second, her mind working fast to come up with a reply which would extract information without giving herself away. "Yes, I was about to ask why you bothered to show up."

"I'm here to investigate the man who shot you." Burke leaned forward and licked his lips. "Apparently he had a robot named Yes Man, who knew how to take control of House's armies."

"Well you can go home." Jessica told him, desperate for the slippery man to leave. "Yes Man, and all of Benny's equipment was destroyed at House's request."

_That _part was true. Jessica had taken Raul and Arcade with her and seen to the destruction personally.

"A pity…" Burke said mournfully. "But I suppose with you in position, we shan't be needing it…"

"You won't." she said.

To her relief, the man rose, his business apparently done. He adjusted the cuffs of his pristine suit and said, "Well I'll leave you to it. Just be ready to move on House when the time comes."

"I'll be ready." Jessica promised calmly, taking another sip.

"Glad to hear it." He said smoothly. The mysterious man slid away from the bar and disappeared. Jessica counted patiently for two minutes, then rose and made her way back to the Lucky 38 as calmly as her tattered nerves would allow.

* * *

**Sooo, I've been running silent for a couple weeks, and there's a reason: I got a job. Finally. A full-time gig. 8-5.**

**Still plan to write on the weekends, but I'm spending 8 hours a day doing heavy physical activity and I'm pretty much exhausted when I get home. This basically cuts writing time down to weekends, and means I'll be putting out chapters at a far slower rate. I still intend to keep writing though. I've resolved to write at least 300-500 words a night, I'll see if I can't send them to Krow Blood to prove I've done them. He can keep me on the straight and narrow.**

**A part of the problem is that it's difficult to start new chapters and scenes. A completely blank page is the hardest thing to overcome. I'm sitting just on the wrong side of the Writer's Block line, and I'm a little afraid that in combination with the new job, it might end me. I don't plan to let it, though. **

**As for the Chinese Stealth Suit trick, it works in Fallout 3, so it works in New Vegas. I use the same rules.**

**We're drawing near the end of this particular story. I'm setting things up for the next trilogy of this story arc, and linking the two universes together as part of a larger plan. I don't want to call this a saga, because that would be narcissistic. But Krow Blood and I are naming it 'Children Of The Atom'.**


	13. Chapter 13

Pro Posterus 13

"Jessica…" House began as she pounded down the stairs, discarding her sleeveless duster along the way. "So good to see you. I was hoping we'd have a chance to discuss-"

"I just met a man in Freeside." she began, cutting him off. She paced in front of the monitor, breathing rapidly.

"There are many men in Freeside-" House began, nonplussed.

She cut him off. "Not this one! He knew me! He knows who I am, and knew who I _was_! He told me to be ready to take you down when the time came…"

House stayed silent, thinking. "I see. And what was this man's name?"

"Burke."

House paused a moment. "I have no record of any 'Burke' living in Freeside…"

"Of course you don't!" she snapped angrily. "It's a cover! But he acted like a Legion spy. A Frumentarius."

"The Legion has retreated, Jessica." House reminded her, his tone far too relaxed for her liking. "They were defeated at the battle of Hoover Dam. My Securitrons are patrolling their former camp. If they decide to come back, we will dispose of them. Machetes are of little use against missile launchers."

"Are you even _listening _to me?" she demanded angrily. "He knew me!"

"And?"

"_And?_" Jessica stared, shocked by his lack of reaction. "And who was I? How do I know him?"

"Do you expect me to have those answers, Jessica?" House asked calmly. "I wasn't aware it bothered you."

"It didn't until now!" she crossed to the bar and pulled a shot glass from the shelf, along with a bottle of vodka. She made to pour, but her shaking hands upset the bottle, and spilled a small amount on the counter. She cursed quietly, drank the shot anyway, and sucked the remainder off of her hand in a rather undignified manner. Not that she particularly cared.

"I will keep an eye out for this 'Burke', and-"

"Don't bother." Jessica snorted, feeling the familiar burn as the hard liquor slid down her throat. "You won't find him."

"You sound very sure…"

Jessica took a breath and turned back to the screen, somehow finding an island of calm in the raging sea of panic her day had suddenly become. "Look, this guy knows about me, he knows about you, and he knows about Yes Man and Benny's plan." Jessica shook her head. "We both know_ I_ could hide from you if I really wanted to, and this 'Burke' knows The Game better than I do."

"What do you suggest, then?"

Jessica sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "I don't know… tighten up security in the Lucky 38? I don't…" she died away into silence.

"What progress has been made on the mutant front?"

"I'm- I don't care about that right now."

"I see… well perhaps you should take a day." House said. "Until you ascertain exactly what this 'Burke' character wants, and what sort of an obstacle he represents, there is nothing either of us can do."

She stared at the monitor. "I need to know who he is. If he _is _legion, then… then what am I?"

"What _were _you." House corrected. "I will have my other agents look into this."

"That's not good enough for me."

"Well what is? I wish this to be resolved, Jessica. I need you at your best."

"I need to take a little vacation." Jessica told him. The plan was a long shot, but it was really the only one which might actually work. If anyone in the world would know about 'Burke', About her background, it would be _him._

She said, "I need to go back to the Divide."

* * *

Boone crouched down and carefully brushed a dune of sand off of a tattered Legion banner. Around him lay the cloth, broken crates, and tattered burnt detritus of the former Legion fort. To the southwest lay the enormous concrete crescent of Hoover dam, and to the north and west, lit by the setting sun, was the glittering surface of lake Mead.

Boone got to his feet and growled in frustration. He kicked the fallen banner, causing a small dust cloud to rise, and be snatched away by the light but insistent breeze. Caesar himself had sat _there_, less than ten feet to Boone's left. Yet now there wasn't even a legion hound. Boone wasn't entirely sure what he had expected, exactly. A scout, perhaps? Some living remnant of the Legion. Something he could fight. Something upon which he could exhaust his frustration, confusion, and guilt.

He wanted her. He wanted her so badly it made him ache to think about her. How had she managed to get that far into his head? Into the space reserved solely for Carla... his shield. His escape. The buffer zone between him and his memories of Bitter Springs.

"Disgraceful." Said a snake-like voice.

Boone snapped around, his rifle leveled at the left eye of the visitor. How had the man snuck up on him? No one and nothing in the world was that silent!

The visitor was dressed in a spotless pinstripe suit. A pair of dark sunglasses covered his eyes, and he seemed completely at ease, despite the rifle pointed at his head. Yet he was not an ally. Boone could read it in the way he moved, never quite giving the sniper his back. The man reached into his lapel and produced a packet of cigarettes. He held it out to Boone.

"Do you want a cigarette? I myself dislike smoking, but I understand the appeal. My mentor was rather fond of it." The young man walked past Boone to stare across the lake. The sniper adjusted, retaining an even footing as he worked to keep some distance between himself and the target.

The man appeared to take no notice. "He grew a little too comfortable with the profligate vices we Frumentarius are often forced to endure, the hypocrite. He was always against using the old world to our advantage. I wonder what he would make of the Legion now…? To be defeated by a gang of gun-toting cowboys! Humiliating. We expected it of Caesar, of course. But did Lanius do _nothing _to prevent it?"

"You're not Legion." Boone spat, his rifle steady. "Legionaries wouldn't insult Caesar. He was your god-king. All of this was his doing." The stranger's voice reminded Boone of Jessica's. It possessed the same magic. The same ability to draw its prey in and entrap them, though the man didn't seem interested in convincing him of anything whatsoever.

"This?" the man laughed, gesturing about the ruined camp. "This was but one cancerous limb." He turned and examined Boone. "Do you honestly believe you have witnessed Caesar's wrath? That you have withstood it?"

In response, his crosshairs still fixed on the man's left eye, Boone tilted his head towards the scrap wood which used to be the legion emperor's throne.

"Not that withered old sow!" the stranger reached up and pulled off his sunglasses to reveal the pale, milky eyes beneath, flecked with orange and marked by scattered red veins. Boone took another cautious step backwards, but he'd seen and dealt with strange things in the Mojave. The situation was going to come to a head very soon. He could feel it, and decided to act first.

Boone squeezed the trigger.. and missed. Even as his finger had tightened, the man was already reacting. Already moving. The butt of the rifle bucked against Boone's shoulder, and the stranger's left cheek exploded in a shower of red blood, specked with green, though things were far too hectic for him to ponder the fact that it hadn't slowed the man down; The visitor was rushing at him far faster than any legionary could, apparently unaware of his wound.

Lacking neither the room, nor the time to pull back his hunting rifle's bolt and take aim for a second shot, Boone reacted on instinct. He twisted his rifle around, following through with his feet and hips, and snapped the butt out towards his attacker's face, a fighting move entrenched in his mind by countless hours of drilling in the NCR's bootcamp.

The buttstroke, it was called. The move resulted in the rifle butt striking an opponent at over twenty miles an hour, exerting over five-hundred pounds of force. The target location was under the opponent's ear, just behind the jawline. Enough to dislocate and shatter an enemy's lower jaw, not to mention the significant brain and spinal damage from the impact. Followed up with a few quick bayonet strikes, and it was one of the deadliest close-quarters moves in basic training.

And it would have worked, had the man not twisted impossibly to avoid it. The stranger's arm snaked neatly underneath Boone's rifle in a devastating uppercut which snapped the sniper's head backwards. His teeth rattled, blood filled his mouth, and purple spots obscured his vision. At the same moment, the stranger's foot landed in his gut, blasting him backwards onto the dirt.

The attacker caught Boone's rifle as it left the sniper's grip, and as one last insult, tossed it away, over the side of the hill. It clattered into the desecrated campsite below, somewhere inside the Brahmin pens. Boone struggled to his knees, scampering backwards to put some distance between himself and his oncoming target. He shook his head to clear the spots, and forced himself to rise, shaking off the pain.

The stranger was stalking towards him, patient as a jungle cat. The injury on his face had already stopped bleeding, and was it Boone's imagination, or was it starting to shrink? The wound gave him a lopsided macabre grin. In combination with his bizarre eyes, it made him look inhuman.

Boone's hand moved for the knife at his side, knowing that his opponent was far too quick for a pistol at this range. The sniper needed distance, more than anything else. He was outmatched, and was not going to win this fight on the stranger's terms. As he unsheathed his combat knife, the stranger put on a sudden burst of speed. Before the weapon could be brought to bear, the newcomer was already inside his defenses, utilizing two devastating elbow strikes, one to the inside of Boone's elbow, making his arm go numb and the knife drop from his grasp, the other to his temple, knocking him once again to the ground. This time, untethered dizziness and rapidly fading vision kept him there.

The stranger took a moment, feeling the wound on his cheek. He smiled. "The good doctor does good work. He was right. I _am_ a child of the atom." He delivered a rib-cracking kick to Boone's side, sending the sniper tumbling off the top of fortification hill, airborne for a second. He landed heavily on the secondary plateau a few feet below.

The stranger slid neatly to his level, barely breaking stride. "You, on the other hand, are an NCR insect." He began to run towards the prone sniper, winding up for another vicious kick. One which would send Boone rolling uncontrollably all the way to the bottom of fortification hill. "Nothing more than practice."

Boone rolled first, moving of his own accord, trying to avoid another kick. He knew his own limits, and a second blow like that would probably put him down for good. He turned it into a slide, feeling the unforgiving gravel grinding into his back. But it finally bought him enough time to pull out his pistol, and he brought it to bear, even as the stranger was leaping after him off the top of the plateau. The newcomer's face was locked in an animalistic snarl, silhouetted against the blue sky above.

A perfect target, and This time Boone didn't miss. He fired one shot, and it caught his attacker in the forehead, throwing the controlled dive into a ragdoll drop. The man, if he could be called that, landed on the side of the hill , his leg twisting unnaturally with a nauseating prolonged crunch. The attacker slid to the bottom and lay still, grinning at the sky.

Coughing and struggling, Boone stumbled to his feet, keeping his pistol aimed at the body. He paused for a moment, letting the cool wind caress his face, waking him, and clearing his head.

Then the body twitched. The fingers began to open and close, the chest to rise and fall. Then the man sat up, groaning and gently patting his head back into shape where the bullet's impact had deformed his skull. The blood had already coagulated around the relatively small wound.

"Dat hurt!" the man declared, slurring a little.

Unnerved, but keeping his cool, Boone raised his pistol and emptied six more shots into the monster, whose chest bucked with every impact, strings of blood crisscrossing his pinstriped suit until he slumped back against the slope of the hill.

Boone stayed stock still, watching the slumped figure carefully. The wound on the thing's cheek had shrunken considerably, the new skin a pale, sickly color.

And once again, the hands twitched unnaturally. The chest began to rise and fall, and the stranger blinked, focusing his bizarre, hate-filled eyes on Boone.

"What are you?" the sniper demanded hoarsely.

His attacker began to laugh as his blood drenched him. As Boone watched, his attacker's face began to redden, the veins pulsating and budging outwards the milky covering over the man's pupils disappeared, revealing the bright green irises. Boone squinted slightly. Were they glowing? The stranger's hands rose into the air, as if to embrace the heavens. The glowing green was overtaking his veins as well, pulsing faster and faster. He shrieked.

Then came bright light. Intense heat, and incredible force.

The explosion took Boone in the chest, cracking his ribs, and propelling him backwards into the broken pile of tents. The heat burned his skin, singeing his eyebrows and the hairs on his arms. He lay in the pile of red legionary cloth, broken and bleeding as the irradiated mushroom cloud rose over the former Legion campsite, and was whisked away by the wind; all that remained of the strange visitor.

* * *

**Don't worry. Boone isn't turning into another Sarah. One punching bag is enough.**


	14. Chapter 14

Pro Posterus 14

Sand stung Jessica's eyes. It burned her skin and filled her nose and mouth, making her cough. The jagged red alien landscape of the Divide stretched before her, the world's hostile innards exposed to the unrelenting wind. The canyon stretched for miles, nearly to the horizon, and thousands of feet deep. All of New Vegas could have fit inside the gaping wound.

It was Jessica's legacy. She was responsible, and though she didn't remember the event itself, that knowledge had kept her up during the darkest night. It made her sick to think of it, but she bore the guilt anyway. It was the least she owed _him_.

Ulysses… her counterpart. Her foil. The _other _courier Six. Though the Divide was Jessica's responsibility, it was Ulysses' burden. The wandering man, a former Legion Frumentarius, had devoted himself to the Divide. He was its caretaker. Its silent guardian. Its protection seemed to Jessica to be the only thing left in his life, and that fact saddened her. Yet she also understood that Ulysses, almost uniquely among the Mojave denizens, lived by a code. He seemed to value duty more than life. Work more than joy, and honor more than fulfillment.

He was also an enigma. Intriguing to Jessica on many levels. He spoke in riddles and thought in complicated knots. She had only just managed to convince him not to blow the NCR to hell using the vast array of nuclear missiles hidden in the divide, but he didn't seem to care for the Legion either, having outgrown both, in some way. She strongly suspected that he saw the entire war as ridiculous. And more ridiculous to him was her own goal: putting House on top.

But his _voice_… Jessica respected her abilities. She knew the effect she had on people. She was well aware of the strength of her influence. She had convinced entire nations to stand down, Legionaries to stop fighting, and water to run uphill. But Ulysses' deep hypnotic voice put her to shame. She had never encountered someone who could influence her in the way she influenced others. The man carried power in his voice as sure as she did, and when with a few simple phrases he'd told her he was going to blow up the NCR, it had taken all of her will not to sink to her knees before him and simply let it happen. If he'd simply asked her to stand aside, she knew she would have.

And if he'd asked her to die? To throw herself off the edge of the Divide?

Well she couldn't honestly laugh that idea off, and that fact said enough by itself. Because of his voice, because of their history together, because of her guilt, and his conviction, she knew that she would do anything the man asked. That fact made her terribly, terribly frightened of him.

The figure was sitting in his usual spot, at the very edge of a seventy-five foot drop. Below him, spreading into the distance was the Divide. She hadn't gotten within ten feet of him before he spoke, and she felt shivers run down her spine.

"Full circle. Walked your road. Now back again. Something else in you needing an answer?"

"I need…" she paused, unsure how or where to start. "Look… how much do you know about me?"

"We've walked the same road. I from the east, you from the west. The Bull and the Bear, though you stand for neither. Circle Junction, New Reno, Vault City, Fort Abandon, brahmin drives at the Big Circle…"

"Have you ever heard of a man named Burke?"

The answer came, swift and firm. "No."

"A Frumentarius." Jessica added, keeping her distance. "Please, Ulysses. This is important! He knew me, from before all of …this." she gestured vaguely at the gaping wound. "Who is he? Who am I?"

"You know already."

Jessica blinked, absorbed his statement, and adjusted accordingly. "Who _was _I?"

The man stayed silent, his dreadlocks buffeted by the harsh wind. All of a sudden he stood, facing her. His eyes, staring at her from just above his gas mask, bored into her very soul. Slowly, as if lifting the weight of the world, he extended an arm straight out and pointed to the cyclopean fissure which stretched to the dust-filled horizon.

"That was a mistake!" Jessica replied, though she could not muster the will to put any conviction behind her own defense.

"Was it?" Ulysses asked.

"How could anyone do that deliberately?" She demanded. "_Why_ would anyone do that deliberately? Knowing what it would destroy? _Why would I do that?_"

He frowned, those indomitable eyes narrowed. Then they widened in shock.

"Odysseus." He answered.

"What?"

The male courier's eyes wandered away, focused on the task of ferocious recollection.

"Who is Odysseus?" Jessica asked.

"Don't know." He answered, his frown deepening. He turned away and stared out across the divide.

"How does it relate to me?"

"Can't remember…" he paused, frowning with the effort of recollection. Jessica knew she was asking a lot. He had so many memoires to sift through. Half of her envied him, the other half, pitied. He said, "Only in tales… before he was Caesar… abandoned…"

"_It_?"

"A place. Southeast. Beyond the Bull. Decades ago…" he took a few steps forward, sinking back down onto the ruined stone. "To remember before my time…before the Legion's time… impossible. I am sorry, Courier. No more answers here. Search elsewhere."

"_Leave?_" Jessica demanded. "But-"

"Leave." He commanded, and Jessica, despite all of her curiosity, obeyed.

Ulysses gathered his duster about himself and turned up his collar to keep out the wind. He stared out across the divide, and tried to remember.

* * *

Paranoia had set Jessica's mind on fire, and as she passed through the city of New Vegas, she couldn't help but scan the alleys of Freeside for any sign of the pinstriped suit. Twice she ducked into a shop, or the mouth of an alleyway, sure that she was being followed, but she managed to make it to the Lucky 38 without incident.

The moment she entered the building, she walked up to the nearest guarding Securitron.

"Victor?"

The cowboy's cartoonish grin flashed onto the screen, replacing the soldier's stern expression.

"Well howdy, Ma-"

"Save it. I want our guard doubled." Jessica ordered. "Send patrols across Hoover Dam, and down south to Cottonwood Cove. If you see anyone who looks even slightly suspicious, I want to know about it, alright? Everything you see and hear.

"Yes Ma'am." The Robot saluted, and the face promptly disappeared, leaving the stern soldier behind. Jessica headed up the elevator. As she reached for the button, the hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she turned away, examining the darkest corners of the bar.

"Victor?"

"Yes Ma'am?"

"Has anyone been in or out before I got back? Have the doors opened at all?" she asked.

"No Ma'am."

She gave the shadows one last searching look, and then headed up the elevator to speak with Mister House.

* * *

"Jessica, a pleasure to see you again. How was your little break?" House asked. "Have we resolved our …issues?"

"What do you know about Odysseus?"

House paused. Jessica stood in front of his monitor, her arms crossed as she tapped her foot impatiently.

"Odysseus?"

She nodded, and felt her hopes rise as he paused in contemplative silence.

"The Greek hero?"

"I doubt it." She replied dryly. She began to pace back and forth in front of his monitor. "He said it was a Place. Do you know of any places named Odysseus?"

"A crater on Saturn's moon, Tethys ."

"Yes," she snapped sarcastically. "And I'm _sure _Caesar's been _there_."

"Watch your tone, Jessica. You are requesting my help."

"And you're beyond useless!" she shot back, her volume rising rapidly. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, calming herself down . "Sorry. This is all just… very tense."

House stayed silent. She crossed to the bar and poured herself a glass of scotch, listening to the ice cubes –a delicacy only available to House and the White Glove society- clink gently against the walls of the glass. It was warm going down, and settled comfortably in her stomach. The weight of the glass was reassuring, and she used it was a bastion around which she could center herself.

She turned back to the monitor. House's face was still plastered upon it, his subtle smirk and intelligent eyes following her around the room.

"I just want to know who I am." She tried to explain further. "Both Burke and Uly- my friend, rather, said that I might have been a very …bad …person." It was a rather weak admission, but for once her golden tongue was failing her. "_He_ certainly has evidence to back it up..." she muttered, more to herself than to the monitor.

Still, House stayed silent.

Feeling defeated, she turned and marched towards the staircase. "You know what," she said, "I'll come back later. Maybe I'll run into Burke again in the meantime, and _he _can answer my questions."

House spoke for the first time since her earlier outburst. "Patience, Jessica. One of my patrols just found your sniper, Craig Boone, trying to make his way past Boulder city."

"_What?_" she whirled around, her arms uncrossing. "Is he alright?"

"Burnt, bleeding both internally, and from multiple lacerations. He is suffering from Advanced Radiation Poisoning and multiple bruised and cracked bones…" as he droned onwards, she found herself sinking numbly onto the staircase, unable to tear her eyes from the monitor. She felt as if the world had suddenly taken off leaving her fumbling and directionless. She barely heard house's words as he finished; "He's been brought to Doctor Usanagi at the New Vegas Medical Clinic. Your friends have already been informed-"

But Jessica was already racing out the door.

* * *

Raul was waiting for her at the front entrance of the clinic. Aside from a neutral greeting of "Hey, Boss." He said nothing at all. But lead her silently through the doors and down the hall into a secluded room. A medical cot had been set up at the center. Arcade was on one side, and Usanagi at the other. Both were working frantically, pumping their patient full of Med-X and stimpacks. Arcade's gloved hands were covered in blood. That fact in combination with the tray of used medical tools meant he'd obviously just completed some unknowable procedure on the inert sniper.

A hand gripped Jessica's shoulder. Cass had been standing by the door when she'd barged in, and the caravaner was giving her a sympathetic look, but could offer nothing more. They worked in silence until at last, Usanagi stepped away.

"He's out, Jessica." Arcade said gently, doing the same. She felt Cassidy's hand on her arm, pulling her back until she collapsed into her chair. She stared at the sniper's pale face. His eyes were shut, and his breathing erratic.

"Is he stable?" Cass asked in a subdued tone.

Arcade nodded. "I need to get some more supplies from the Followers…"

"I'll come with you."

"Wait…" Jessica pleaded, her voice plaintive. Arcade paused in mid-stride.

"How did… what happened to him?"

"I don't know." Arcade said, reaching into his pocket, "But Victor said that these were found with him." he handed her a pair of horribly familiar tortoiseshell glasses."

Jessica took them wordlessly, turning them over in her hands.

"Any idea what it means?" Arcade asked.

She shook her head, afraid to open her mouth. If she did, she knew that she'd start to cry. How could one meeting with a complete stranger screw up her life so completely? _Don't be shocked,_ she told herself harshly, _afterall_ _you do the same thing to other people all the time…_

"Jessica?" Arcade asked again, recognizing her reaction. He was well aware she knew something, but before he could pry Cass tugged irresistibly on his arm. and the two of them exited without another word, leaving Jessica alone to listen to Boone's short breaths. She stared at him, hugging herself and trying to deal with the emotional shock running through her.

"I'm sorry, Craig." She whispered, trying to drown out the silence.

A short time later, the door behind her opened again. Veronica was silhouetted in the frame, watching both of them with a pensive expression. The former scribe moved slowly into the room. Jessica watched her with a wary eye, but the woman was wearing a completely neutral expression, betraying no hints of her inner thoughts. The two of them hadn't spoken since their argument in the Lucky 38… nearly a week ago? Had it been that long? They'd spoken all the time before she'd destroyed the Hidden Valley bunker complex.

"What happened to him?" Veronica asked as Jessica silently slipped the glasses out of view.

"We don't know yet." Jessica told her, her voice cracking as she did so. It was a partial truth. Better than a lie, and less painful than reality.

And Veronica saw right through it. "What did you do?"

"I… we kissed and then he…" she gulped back her tears and scowled defiantly. "He left."

"And then this happened." Veronica gestured at the unconscious sniper. She turned back to Jessica. "That's not the whole story, is it?"

"Lay off, Veronica!" Jessica snarled, rising angrily to her feet. "_Just shut up! I don't want to hear it!_"

The scribe's eyes traveled down Jessica's arm, to her balled fist. She nodded slowly. "Whose are those?"

Jessica paled; her fingers were curled tightly around the horn-rimmed glasses. She tossed them angrily to the floor, shattering one of the lenses, and stomped out, feeling the onslaught of inevitable tears.

She was crying by the time she reached the parking lot. The sun was hidden behind a row of low ruins, throwing the sky into an array of orange and yellow. She pulled a bandana from the pocket of her sleeveless duster, and pressed it into her eyes, trying to stem the tears. Her nose was running too, and she found herself laughing at the mental image: House's impeccable negotiator reduced to a sniveling mess. No more than she deserved. Far more than she deserved, probably.

The door swung open, and Veronica joined her, staring across the parking lot. She was holding the glasses loosely in her grasp. They stood in silence, watching the setting sun and the orange sky.

"A couple days ago I had a conversation in Freeside." Jessica told her, wiping her nose. "There was a man. Named Burke. Or called himself Burke. It wasn't his real name. I don't know who he was, but he wasn't…. a mark or anything. He was like me, I guess."

"Like you?"

Jessica sniffed and smirked, feeling disgust fill her. "A manipulative bastard. He was dangerous, and…"

"And?"

"I told you about what happened at the divide? Well he… he knew me from before. From back then. I don't know what he wants with me, but… I don't know… I just… did I bring this on him?" Jessica's head sank into her palms. "On Boone, I mean? On the Divide? Every time I try to help I just keep hurting more people!"

"Well… not every time." Veronica said, feeling moved to offer some measure of comfort.

"What does he want with me?" she demanded, gesturing at the glasses. "Why? He put those there? What is he saying? What is he doing? Why Boone?!"

Veronica rubbed her chin. "Well when you talked to him, did he say what he wanted?"

"He wanted to move on House. What does hurting Craig have to do with that?"

"Does this Burke guy know that you lost your memory? This might be a test of some kind. I don't like …some… of the stuff you've done, Jessica." The scribe said carefully. "But you do care. If you didn't before, he might be watching for the difference. Trying to figure out whether or not you're you."

"Jesus Christ…" Jessica murmured after the suggestion sunk in.

"Just a thought." Veronica said mildly.

* * *

**Yo guys. Been a while since the last update.**

**Ulysses' voice is the greatest thing about the Lonesome Road, and to be honest, it's kinda partly where I got the idea for Jessica's powers of 'suggestion'. **

**So… how 'bout those presidential debates, huh? Not that I want to drag politics into this, but… Wowzers.**


	15. Chapter 15

Pro Posterus 15

"How is he doing?" Cassidy asked, standing beside Boone's cot. Arcade, standing on the other side, held a finger to his lips and shook his head. He nodded at the car corner of the room. The caravaneer followed his prompt and sighed; Jessica had pulled several chairs together to form a makeshift bench. The younger woman was spread out on it, fast asleep. Her thin duster was wrapped around her like a blanket. Cass looked back at Arcade and mouthed the words 'How long?'. He just shrugged helplessly, prompting another sigh from her.

She stared down at the unconscious sniper, and tried not to feel too guilty. She frowned, and took a sip from her hip flask, opting for anger instead. Cass was very fond of Jessica. The young woman was a tightly wound bundle of contradictions. She was a liar who was always honest to her friends, and a swindler with a generous heart. She was a negotiator in times of war, and an emotionally manipulative bitch who had fallen into honest love. Or whatever the hell was going on between her and that sniper now lying unconscious on the medical bed.

It was just too bad the man Jessica had fallen for was a bastard as strange as Craig Boone. The man deserved a lot of credit for the things he'd lived through, but as much as Jessica kicked herself for treating him like a yo-yo, the way Cassidy saw it, he had always been doing exactly the same thing to her. No one moped that much without wanting to be saved. The concept Boone had never quite been able to grasp was that Carla was never going to walk through the door to the cocktail lounge, as Jessica had done so many times, and try to wash away the memories of Bitter Springs. No matter how many times Jessica went down there, Boone always found a way to push her away again, hoping Carla would fill the gap.

Now he had somehow found a way to make things worse than ever. It was ironic that the only person in the world intuitive enough to salvage the mess this whole situation had suddenly turned into was caught at the very center of it, unable to see things from the outsider's perspective as she usually did.

Cassidy had hoped that the kiss would do _something_. Wake one of them up, perhaps. It should have either made Boone wake up to the fact that Carla was not coming back, and that Jessica was all he had, or made the Courier wake up and realize that chasing after the sniper was going to get her nowhere.

Instead there she was, curled up in the corner, fast asleep and as loyal as ever. And Boone had clearly tried… something. He'd walked out an angry man and turned up a broken mess. Cass wasn't sure what would happen if Boone died, but she was not looking forward to shepherding Jessica through that emotional mess.

Not to mention the fact that they'd be losing one of the best shots in the entire Mojave. The Sniper was an invaluable asset to Jessica's cause, and despite the way the two of them treated each other, he was a part of House's odd little family, and his passing would most certainly be mourned.

She glance back up at Arcade. "How long?" she mouthed again.

Another helpless shrug, but she read the diagnosis in his expression: Not long.

He nodded to the door and lead her out into the hallway of Usanagi's clinic.

* * *

"…So?"

"I dunno." Arcade shook his head, his voice a deadened echo, devoid of its usual cheer. "It's cumulative. He could survive the radiation by itself, and the broken bones. Maybe even the burns, but not all together. It's too much."

Cass nodded slowly. "So how long?"

Arcade spoke quietly. "A day? Maybe two? I'll be amazed if he ever manages to regain consciousness. His internal organs are simply shutting down."

"Fuck…" Cassidy said her frustration turning to pity and sorrow. Arcade nodded in agreement. She asked, "What happened to him, exactly?"

"I don't know. It's like someone detonated a mini-nuke right at his feet. Or a few feet from him."

"Hard to imagine anyone coming away from that in one piece." Cassidy crossed her arms. "So how do we fix him? The mono-breedy thingy Jessica has?"

"The implants? I doubt House would spring for a second set." Arcade smiled ruefully. "We aren't as valuable to him as she is."

"And how valuable will she be when she's moping around because her boyfriend died?" Cassidy demanded aggressively. Too late, she saw the warning in his eyes. She turned. Jessica was standing in the doorway behind, looking shocked and hurt. Her arms were wrapped around herself in a tight hug, and for once she was completely lacking in bravado. She looked …lost, if anything.

"Jessica…" Arcade soothed, stepping past Cassidy to put an arm around the Courier.

"I didn't want him to go." She murmured.

"I know."

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

"He'll be fine, Jess."

"No he won't. I did hear you, Arcade." The courier replied harshly. "Two days? That's not enough time!"

Cassidy cleared her throat nervously. "I'm sure he didn't mean-"

"Yes he did, Cass! Of course he did!" Jessica glared at her. "This is your fault! I never should have listened to you! I never should have kissed him!"

Arcade stared. "You kissed him?"

Jessica nodded, and they both looked to Cassidy, who took a step back. "I thought it would help!" she defended. "And don't you go around accusing me! Boone didn't do that to himself!"

"She's right. Something happened to him out there. Attacked by raiders? Maybe Legion remnants?"

The sudden change in Jessica's expression made Cassidy suspicious. The younger woman clearly knew more than she let on, but before the Caravaneer could pry, she was interrupted by a bulky mechanical noise. An enormous Securitron was trundling up to them, moving awkwardly in the clinic's relatively narrow hallway. That goonish cowboy face was pasted on the monitor, and it spoke in that thick drawl which Cassidy found so irritating. There were, she decided, certain things she hated about Mister House. Victor the Robot was one of them.

"Well howdy, Ma'am, Ma'am. Sir."

"What do _you_ want?" Cassidy snapped.

"Mister House sure would like Y'all back at the Lucky 38."

"I bet." Cassidy said. "Tell him to wait. We're a little occupied."

"He'd like to see ya'll right now, if you please."

"Why?" Arcade demanded, showing as much annoyance as Cassidy felt.

"I can't discuss it here." the robot told them blankly. "Ya'll have ta come back with me now, ya hear?"

"Boone is dying!" Jessica snarled.

"My most sincere condolences." Victor replied, his voice a mockery of sorrow. "but House doesn't like to be kept wai-"

"Fuck him! I'm staying here!" the Courier declared, radiating defiance. Cass and Arcade both stared at her in shock. The Securitron remained completely still, and in the corner of her eye, Cassidy could see Arcade reaching for his plasma pistol. It wouldn't do much good against the enormous machine. Not in such close quarters, the thing would cut all three of them down in a matter of seconds.

The screen went blank, and –feeling slightly surprised at her own bravery- Cassidy stepped protectively in front of the Courier. She was comforted by Arcade, who did the same. The screen flickered to life again, this time showing the picture of an intelligent, handsome middle-aged man with a thin, neat moustache.

"Jessica…" the voice was pleasant, and human. Authoritative, yet fatherly. Cassidy realized that she was hearing Robert Edwin House's voice, and seeing his picture for the very first time. She found herself wondering how it was she'd become so loyal to a cause and figurehead she'd never seen nor heard before. She glanced at Arcade who, judging by his expression, was undergoing the same realization.

The first epiphany was followed closely by a second: It wasn't loyalty to House that kept Cassidy around, it was loyalty to Jessica.

"Please…" the courier's voice was plaintive. She looked close to tears. "I can't leave now. I'd never be able to look at myself in the mirror again."

"The Sniper is unconscious, Jessica." House reasoned, focusing solely on the Courier. "He was when my Securitrons found him, and his condition was only deteriorating. His is unaware of any of your actions, and would be none the wiser."

"_I'd know!_" Jessica replied tearfully, striding out in front of Cassidy. "You don't even _fucking_ get it, do you?"

"Behave yourself, Jessica!" House reprimanded, his voice stern. "Our cause is bigger than any one man. The loss of your sniper is lamentable, but in the bigger picture-"

"Sometimes I don't care about the bigger picture!"

House was silent for a moment. Cassidy could hear the robot's camera clicking and whirring, examining all three of them. Eventually their illustrious leader spoke again. "A pity, for in the end the Larger picture is all that matters."

"How long was it since you felt human?" the Courier spat in response, as defiant as ever.

Once again, House fell silent. Then he said, "I found your man, Jessica. Burke. The Legionary."

"…What?" the Courier faltered, her righteous indignation turning to a tone of uncertainty and fear.

"Wait!" Arcade paused, wiping his glasses on his shirt. He placed them back on his nose and squinted at House's picture. "The Legion? I thought we drove them out for good. I mean… Ceasar's dead, right?"

"There's still Lanius." Cassidy reminded him. She had suspected for a long time that the second battle for Hoover Dam had not spelled the end for that particular faction, though she wasn't particularly worried; House's Securitrons could crush nearly any threat which came their way.

"Four hours ago one of my Securitrons patrolling the eastern border was attacked by this man…" the picture flickered and faded away, replaced by a rather grainy video clip. It showed a gangly, balding figure, bounding towards the camera, sometimes on two legs, sometimes on all fours like a dog. A Securitron arm appeared in-frame, spraying 9mm rounds and Cassidy realized they were watching from the Robot's point of view. The figure darted back and forth across the rough dunes, throwing up almost as much sand and dust as the bot it was rapidly approaching. A string of missiles left smoking trails in the upper corners of the camera and hit the ground before the strange assailant, obscuring the view with a cloud of dust.

The attacker sprang through it, arms spread and legs bent in an ape-like leap directly towards the camera. The image bounced with his impact, and he drew his fist back, face twisted in a bestial snarl. The strangest and most frightening thing was his eyes. They were pale, lacking pupils and irises. The image froze as the attacker drove his fist towards the camera.

"I lost the feed after that." House observed.

Jessica was shaking, her eyes fixed on the berserker. Cassidy leaned in and gave him a careful examination. The man was dressed in rags which she rapidly realized were the remnants of a pinstripe suit.

"It's him…" the Courier said, her voice faint.

"Him? Arcade demanded, "You know this …nutcase?"

Jessica didn't answer. She was too preoccupied staring at the image, into the assailant's eerie pale eyes.

"Jessica?" Cassidy said cautiously, equal parts curious and horrified.

The Courier stayed silent, her own beautiful green eyes wide with fear.

"That's not Legion." Arcade said after a moment. "Legionaries don't move like that. Maybe he was a member of the fiends? What kind of drugs would you have to be hopped up on to attack a Securitron with your bare hands?"

"What kind of drugs would you have to be on to attack a Securitron and _win_?" Cassidy pondered.

"He's Legion." Jessica whispered softly. Her companions stared, and she turned to them, taking a deep breath. "I know this …man. He spoke to me in a bar a few days ago. Asked if I was ready to move on House. I think…" she gulped. "I think he knew me from before I got shot in the head."

"And you didn't think to tell us?" Cassidy asked indignantly.

"And what do you mean by move on house?" Arcade added.

"Was I ready to take him down." Jessica said faintly, her face pale. "God, Cass… before all this… I don't think I was a very good person…"

The screen flickered back to house's face. "Would you like to find out for sure, Jessica? My Securitrons found him again a mile into the Free Economic Zone, barely able to stand. He's unstable at a genetic level, and is deteriorating rapidly. I do not think he will be around much longer. If you wish to interrogate him, now is the time."

The Courier took an eager step forward, but faltered once again. She turned back towards Boone's room, her lips parting slightly as she grappled with the impossible decision.

* * *

**So yeah… welcome back to this one, if you're still interested. Keep in mind that everything after Mutatis Mutandis is going to be a lot clearer if you're reading this story as well.**

**I honestly wasn't sure what she should do. Either path has a great deal of interesting potential. I asked Krow Blood and he suggested I open it to the floor. So what do you guys think, should she stay with Boone, or go interrogate Burke?**


	16. Chapter 16

Pro Posterus 16

Jessica shut the door to Boone's suite and walked carefully up to his cot, pulling a rickety aluminum chair across the threadbare carpet. House had urged her to leave immediately, but there was no way she was going to walk out of that building without saying a few parting words before she left. She was terribly afraid that the sniper wouldn't be alive by the time she got back. As much as she wanted to stay, House was right. He usually was. If 'Burke', as he called himself, was a Legionary, a fact of which Jessica had no doubt, then it meant that Lanius was eyeing the Hoover Dam again, along with New Vegas.

Judging by the Securitron's tape, it seemed this time he was bringing a different kind of warrior to the fight. If Boone died while Jessica was interrogating Burke, she knew that forgiving herself for leaving would be an impossible task. On the other hand, if Burke held the key to preventing the Legion's third invasion, and Jessica missed the opportunity to get it while moping over one NCR sniper, it would cost innocent lives across the entire Mojave, and she wasn't about to let _that_ happen. Especially when her carelessness had already cost the Divide.

She was also curious. The man had known her before Benny's only two well-aimed shots. Jessica had tried to remember. During late nights and the quiet moments, she'd done her best to remember her childhood, but those times were locked away far out of reach. Occasionally she'd catch a glimpse. A color, or a smell would bring a strange sense of familiarity, but nothing ever connected. She had awoken knowing her name was Jessica, able to speak English, and able to bend people around her. But nothing of how she came by those abilities remained.

The Courier settled in her chair and gently took Boone's hand. The man was pale, his breathing shallow and shaking. She saw a dark stain on the seat of his cot, and winced; the radiation poising was doing its insidious work. She could smell the rot which accompanied it.

"Craig…" she ran her fingers across his scarred palm, feeling the callouses. His fingers were cold; a sign of failing circulation. She leaned down anyway and kissed them gently, then pressed them to her forehead, planting her elbows on the soft mattress. She shut her eyed tightly to hold back any tears, knowing House would disapprove. The bastard would seeing crying as a waste of energy which could have been better spent rebuilding the Mojave.

"I'm sorry." She said, "This was my fault. I shouldn't have put any pressure on you."

She glanced hopefully at his face, but his eyes were still shut, his mouth hanging open awkwardly. She sighed, "I have to go. I'll be back though. And I'll find something. An Auto-Doc, or… or something."

Her brow creased as a thought struck her: There was an auto-Doc in the Sink. The Big MT once again held all the answers. She grinned to herself, thin tendrils of hope forcing themselves through the concrete barriers of resignation.

All she had to do was keep them from turning him into a lobotomite long enough to get him in there. Hell, she could probably get away without telling them he was there. They'd given her the Transportalponder!, after all. Would it work on another person? Maybe they could tweak it for her. Dala certainly would. All Jessica needed to do for _that_ was jumping-jacks.

"I have to go. But I'll be back, Boone! I promise. I'll fix this!" She rose quickly and kissed him on the forehead. "I'll fix this!"

* * *

Arcade, Cassidy, and Raul all stayed behind, promising to hold the fort and do their best to keep Boone alive until she got back. House, however, stayed with her throughout the entire trip back to the Lucky 38. His Securitron, bearing his face, trundled silently a few respectful feet behind her. His respect ended at that, however. He talked endlessly, debriefing her on exactly how Burke had been captured, the havoc he'd managed to wreak on the unit they'd watched him attack, and NCR reports on Legion activity. It had surprised Jessica to find out that House was still in contact with them. But she really needn't have been. As House pointed out, despite their armies getting kicked out, New Vegas held far too many NCR business interests at stake for them not to maintain diplomatic relations.

In the bigger picture, it appeared that the Free Economic Zone was in fact a bastion of peace. North and south, all along the borders between NCR and Legion territory, there were almost daily skirmishes. The Legion, though it had fallen silent in the first weeks following Caesar's death, was growing more insistent with each passing week, slowly gaining ground and inching around the boarders of the Mojave. Reports had begun to come in from the few NCR rangers surviving the skirmishes that the Legionary Decanii all seemed to display the same feats of strength, agility, and irrational feral savagery that 'Burke' had in the security footage. They all had the same pale, milky eyes, though the recruits were by all accounts, regular humans.

Burke himself had torn the Securitron to shreds. His fist had been sunk straight through the display monitor, and the entire frame of the robot had been beaten and dented as if clobbered by a supermutant. The man had been found several hours later, crawling through the Mojave. He was suffering from severe radiation burns, and some sort of tumorous cancer which was eating away at him with unprecedented speeds. The security bots were able to actually pick him and drag him back to the Lucky 38, encountering next to no resistance. The man's condition had somehow gone form inhumanly powerful to pitifully weak in a matter of hours.

"Did he say anything?" Jessica had asked, intrigued.

"Nonsensical gibberish about the triumph of Caesar." House had answered. " Caesar is dead by, your own account."

"He is." Jessica affirmed grimly. "What else did Burke say?"

"He wanted to speak to you directly, but wouldn't say more. I get the feeling he had some slight brain damage."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"He has a bullet embedded in his skull. If I had to guess I would say it was courtesy of your sniper, Craig Boone."

* * *

Interrogation was purely psychological manipulation. Jessica had on one occasion been asked to make a legionary speak. She hadn't, instead choosing to walk into his cell and having a friendly chat with him. She knew that physical interrogation techniques wouldn't work on legionaries in general. They were much too masochistic for that. Besides, Burke was a different animal, and his condition was beyond the point where more pain would help.

The man was tied up in a small steel chair in the basement of the Lucky 38. His hands were bound together behind his back. Two Securitrons were stationed, one on either side of the sandpit. Both had their missiles and Gatling lasers trained on him. He was in horrible shape. His clothes were mere rags, his chest –toned but wiry- was covered in scorch marks and radiation burns. Cancerous sores and lumps could be seen, stretching his skin and distorting it in odd ways. One sore had peeled back to the point where Jessica could see his musculature moving beneath as he breathed It reminded her of the Marked Men wandering the Lonesome Road. Burke's lips and chin were covered in a thick black liquid the mere stench of which made her gag, even from across the table. It had dribbled down his chin onto his chest, seeping back into the sores and turning them black. Every time Burke took a breath, a little more of it bubbled up.

She decided that the polite approach might garner some respect and build a rapport. After all, she was probably a sight for sore eyes after House's treatment. Her looks wouldn't hurt either. Burke was a man, after all. Presumably straight, and Jessica knew how to play the healing Angel angle all too well.

Jessica had made a list of all the things she knew, or suspected about the Legion, and knew or suspected about Burke, and as she approached the sand pit, she ran them through her head again. It wasn't much information, and she was well aware that not only had she been dealt a bad hand, but she was up against a better player who knew how to count the cards. If she was bluffing, he would probably know. He would have to be very careful with her information.

Caesar had died shortly after the Battle for Hoover Dam, which meant that Legate Lanius was in charge. The Legate was a task master, and perhaps that fact would be useful in some way. Perhaps not; most legionaries reveled in harsh methods of discipline. They were all in competition with each other to see who could be the least human.

A man called the Good Doctor had been mentioned. Apparently the Doctor, whomever he was, cared deeply for Jessica. Close relation or family member, perhaps?

Burke had been given some very potent drugs. No one who was not hopped up could possibly have taken on a Securitron in hand to hand like the video had shown. House had told her of Burke's wounds, and a scan of his head had found a bullet imbedded inside. She wasn't sure of what use that would be, aside from proving that Boone's aim had not faltered, even at the end.

The question was how had Burke survived it? Jessica too had survived being shot in the head, but she had not been in fighting form for some time afterwards.

Perhaps the good doctor had given him the drugs. Perhaps they had healed him. It was certainly a possibility, and from what little she knew, it seemed like a reasonable assumption. She had seen stranger things.

Burke thought that she was on his side. Or at least he had up until recently. The man had nearly killed Boone, and the question was: did he do it to spite her, or to test her? If she decided to use that information she would have to be very careful about exactly what she said and how. Burke had the better hand, and it was vitally important that he not know it.

The one thing Jessica was sure of was that he didn't know she knew about the scouts in the Sierra Madre. That was her ace-in-the-hole. The one fact she was absolutely sure of.

Then there was Odysseus, whatever it was. Even House didn't know. Jessica would just have to drop it at the right moment, and hope it struck a chord.

Burke was dying, and so she was not trying to keep information from him lest it fall into enemy hands. But information was her only source of leverage over him. his curiosity about her could certainly be used to force Intel out. But only if she played her cards right.

She took a seat opposite him and schooled her features into a welcoming and friendly expression. "Hell again, Burke."

The Frumentarius, whose head had been bowed against his chest, grinned and slowly opened his eyes to look up at her. The inside of his mouth was covered in the same black tar. It stained his teeth and coated his tongue. His eyes were still lifeless white voids, but one had turned an ugly, rotten shade of green. A muscle beneath it was spasming uncontrollably.

"Jessica…" he said, his voice had undergone an enormous change since she'd last seen him. Where before it had been seductive, melodic, and dangerous, now it was gravelly and half-crazed. She wondered what condition his throat was in. If it looked anything like the rest of him, then talking was probably a very painful experience.

Good.

He leaned forward, straining against his bonds. The Securitrons followed his every movement, prepared to fire at the slightest hint of aggressiveness. His head tilted to the side a little too far, as if her were trying to read text at an awkward angle.

"How is Boone?" he asked.

The Courier buried her feelings and gave him her best warm smile. "Recovering. I can see the explosion hit both of you. Would you like some Rad-Away? Maybe a glass of water?"

Burke laughed. "I appreciate the thought, but no amount of Rad-Away will fix this."

"A stimpack, then?" she asked sweetly. Reading him was very difficult. The lack of pupils meant she couldn't tell when he was looking at her, or how he was feeling about anything she said. Part of the problem was that she had no idea what she was hunting for. House would want information on the invasion, if there was one, of course. But in terms of answers to her more personal questions, she didn't even know enough to prompt him, or direct his thoughts in any particular way. What the hell had done this to him?

"Stop! I know what this is. Let's have some honesty, shall we?" Burke leaned forward gleefully. "You hate me, Jessica. And you should. I know how you felt about him, and I broke him to hurt you."

_Broke him to hurt her…_ Jessica tried not to smile. Burke had made a mistake in his word choice. He had just settled the issue as to whether or not his assault on Boone had been a test, or an attack. He would have attacked Boone either way, but the fact that he had centered on _her_, on her _reactions_, told her that he still wasn't sure whose side she was on. She allowed her eyes to slide past him and settle momentarily on the Securitrons, gently reminding him that House was watching both of them, and that even if she were still on Burke's side, she would have to act the part of the hostile interrogator.

…but if she tried to play him that way it could get her into more trouble and reveal her hand. She knew far less than he did. Not nearly enough to bluff her way through. Besides, she could slip up just by trying to make him reveal any information at all.

She could reveal less information, and keep a stronger position by being honest with him, though both options held risks. Besides, the Legionaries were known for their pride. When they judged it bruised, they grew angry. Anger had loosened many a tongue over the course of many interrogations. She said, "And did I pass, or can you even tell? I'm sure blowing up heartbroken retired snipers is exactly what you were thinking of when you signed up to be a Frumentarius. Tell me, does the Legate entrust all of his agents with such illustrious tasks, or just the most accomplished?"

Burke responded with a smile of his own. One far more telling, and far more worrying; she had tripped up somewhere, and revealed how little she knew. He began to laugh, and leaned back in his chair. "I see Benny hit his mark after all. It's a shame to see you in such a state, Jessica."

"I can't say the same for you." She replied evenly, trying not to show too much of her hatred.

"I suspect you couldn't say very much of anything at all, bent over with that NCR dog at your back, and House in front. How did you ever stoop so low? Even after being shot in the head… you could have been something great. You _were_ something great."

"And what was that, exactly?" she asked carefully.

"An agent of ours. One of the best." Burke tutted regretfully. "And then you had to get yourself caught…

An agent? So …the divide? The chip? What had her plans been? Had all that destruction been deliberate? Jessica kept her mouth shut and took a single breath to calm herself. "Things like that tend to change one's perspective. Most people can't walk away from something like that. I didn't." she smirked at him, and decided to play one of her cards, banking on a guess. "But you did. I see the Good Doctor's methods work."

"Some of them help." He agreed quietly –and there it was! Small muscles ever-so-slightly tightening around his eyes and mouth. She knew she had hit a mark, and had him momentarily off-balance. Jessica struck, hitting him with her strongest card.

She said, "I guess those trips to the Sierra Madre paid off. I hope The Good Doctor was pleased with the results."

He scowled. Or at least his mouth did. The rest of his face remained immobile. In combination with his white eyes, the effect was strange, almost like a demented china-doll. Jessica pressed her advantage, taking another gamble though the implications of what she was saying horrified her. "What does it take to kill you, Burke? Dismemberment? Like the ghost people? Did the Good Doctor get that far?"

"Farther." Burke allowed. She kept her face blank, though inside she was overjoyed; He had confirmed a wild guess. Jessica felt very pleased with herself, at least until she thought about the implications of the new information. The idea of Legion soldiers with the regenerative capabilities of the Ghost People was terrifying. The Legion's limitations were purely physical. Their decision to avoid all pre-war tech had lost them Hoover Dam. No one, however mentally committed they might be, could survive a well-aimed gunshot wound. But Legionaries with the Ghost People's abilities wouldn't have to. It was by no means a perfect solution to the Knife/Gunfight problem, but it would certainly give them a serious edge over regular NCR soldiers, and House's Securitrons.

She felt a chill creep down her spine; the Ghosts weren't the worst denizens patrolling the Sierra Madre. Just one of those Holograms could lay waste to all of New Vegas.

But the Legion wouldn't seek that out, right? That was Old World tech. and they hated the Old World. Finding some measure of consolation, she said, "It's nice to know that Lanius is learning from Caesar's mistakes."

Burke relaxed somewhat, though he was still off-balance. And there was that smile again. She had slipped up a second time, and revealed the limitations of her intel. She frowned slightly; Burke had relaxed both times she had mentioned Lanius. Was the Legate dead? How could she get him to tell her?

Burke just watched her with those lifeless eyes.

"So is that the Legate's plan, then? Drug all your soldiers with this serum and come back to finish the job?" She asked.

The man leaned forward and settled his elbows on the table. "Not quite, but accurate enough. Are you scared, Miss Chase?"

"Should I be?" she replied. "Looks to me like you'll all fall apart after a few days."

"I will agree that the doctor's work is not always…" he shrugged thoughtfully, "Perfect. Some of his enhancements are incompatible with others." He ran a finger through the black liquid staining his desk, tracing out idle patterns. "But the abilities, the… the Perks it gives us are worth it."

Jessica nodded. "And none of you Perkers are scared of dying?"

"Should I be? I exist to serve the Legion. I have done so. My time is ended, my purpose fulfilled."

"Fulfilled? You were captured."

"And my mission was to ascertain whether or not you were still with us. I have done so. The mere fact that I have not returned will tell Caesar enough."

Jessica smiled triumphantly. "…Caesar? The Caesar I know is dead… so there must be another." Her smile disappeared as fast as it had come. "There's another Caesar."

"Well done, Jessica." Burke congratulated.

"And he's working with the Good Doctor, pulling Legion recruits from the ranks and giving them these… Perks? Is that what happens? You were born into the Legion?" Jessica smirked. "A slave girl? Captured prisoner? Any idea who your father was, or do they share that kind of thing. I suspect not. That might almost be human."

Burke shook his head. "A father? No. I am an image. An echo. A copy of the original. The good Doctor... he likes to improve upon things. To make them better than they were."

Jessica pursed her lips, frowning as she sorted through the man's strange wording. "You're a clone?"

"One of many. I do not know where the original is. He was sent east."

"Sent east by whom, exactly?"

"Caesar." Burke smiled, revealing stained teeth. He coughed again, spraying the malodorous black liquid across the table's surface.

"Not Lanius? Or the Doctor?"

Burke stayed silent.

Jessica sighed. "Why does the Good Doctor use clones? Does he just not want real recruits getting hurt when he fails?"

"A few less variables he has to account for, I believe. He is an… unusual thinker." Burke smiled at her. "He loved you, though. His baby doll. His pride and joy."

The Courier frowned, her curiosity growing. "Pride and Joy?"

"His greatest achievement." Burke explained. "Our most effective agent."

"The Legion doesn't use women."

"Your Legion doesn't."

Jessica stared. "There are two Legions?"

"Only one. And the cancerous growth you've…expunged."

"What is the Good Doctor's name?"

Still, the Frumentarius kept his mouth shut.

Jessica tilted her head slightly and stared at him. She decided to play her final card, remembering the single word which had been such a mystery, Even to House himself. "And How does Odysseus fit into it?"

The man's expression changed rapidly to one of shock, horror and fear. "What do you know about Odysseus?"

"It's southeast of here." Jessica bluffed furiously, waving a hand dismissively to disguised her lack of knowledge. "What is the Good Doctor's name?"

"You can't know about Odysseus!" Burke said, stunned. "That's impossible!"

"What is the Good Doctor's name, Burke?!"

"You can't know about Odysseus!"

"_The name!_" Jessica snarled, the Voice coming forward as it had in the past. Though this time it was fueled by anger, curiosity, and her extreme stress. She was afraid. Afraid for Boone, afraid for herself, and afraid for the Mojave. And she was curious about her past. What had she done to further the deaths of the people and places she cared so much for? There was no way everything she'd built and preserved would survive an invasion of people like Burke. If the Legion was using technology, it could only spell the end for New Vegas, and likely the NCR as well. "_You will tell me his name!_" she ordered.

"Presper! Victor Presper!" Burke snapped back, struggling as if the information were being torn from his lips. "Fucking Bitch you always were too much trouble!" he screeched, ripping free of his bonds, "You and your Brother!" he leapt at her from over the table, milliseconds before the Securitrons opened fire and he was engulfed in Gatling lasers.

* * *

**Alright, so… this story is drawing to a close. Next chapter will probably be the last. Then Krow Blood and I'll finish off Mutatis Mutandis and we'll finally get this show on the road!**


	17. Chapter 17

Pro Posterus 17

Jessica burst through the front door of Usanagi's clinic. Her lungs felt like bursting, and her legs were roaring in white-hot pain. She collapsed on the floor of the foyer, nearly smashing the Transportalponder!, but she managed to keep it off the ground as she lay there, panting for breath. The two Securitrons which had accompanied her back to the clinic stood at the door, waiting patiently for her to catch her breath.

She had not paused to debrief House, nor to ponder Burke's last words. That could all happen later. The moment the man had committed suicide by Securitron, she had rushed upstairs, grabbed the Big MT Transportalponder! and rushed for the clinic, stopping only when her legs wouldn't support her anymore. To his credit, House had allowed her to leave, and provided the escort so she could make it back in safety. Victor ended up carrying her for the final leg of the trip.

Cursing herself for the seconds it took to recover, she dragged herself to her feet and continued into the clinic, brushing past a few nurses as she made her way to Boone's room. She threw open the door and froze, stunned into silence.

A white sheet had been pulled over the sniper's prone form. Arcade and Jess had both turned towards the door, and were watching her with equal parts caution and mourning. Veronica was there as well, speaking to Raul in subdued tones, however Jessica's attention was focused entirely on the cot. Chills gripped her, slowing her feet. Her breath trembled and shook as she willed the sheet to move. Boone was still. Far too still.

"Jessica…" Arcade murmured helplessly as she moved up beside the cot. "Jessica I'm sorry… I tried…"

Jessica let out a choked sob. "I should've… I should've told given Victor instructions. I should've stayed! I should've…" she died away into silence, gripping the sniper's cold hand as if the mere contact would bring him back.

"Jessica…" Cass moved to put a hand on the younger woman's shoulder, but the Courier shook her off, snarling, "Don't touch me! This is your fault! This is House's fault! This is everybody's! This is…"

"Yours." Veronica finished, rising to her feet.

"What the fuck, Veronica?" Cassidy demanded, turning angrily towards the Brotherhood scribe. Arcade, normally the calm one, was looking equally as furious.

Jessica's gaze slowly traveled up past the dead sniper to rest on Veronica's stoic face. The Courier seemed to shrink even further. Veronica ignored the other two companions and pulled up a chair, never breaking eye contact with Jessica until they were both seated on either side of Boone's body.

Jessica stared at her. "I never really said I was sorry, did I?"

"You did." The Scribe replied shortly. "I just don't think you meant it like I wanted you to." She chewed her lip, examining the sniper's pale face. "You were sorry you hurt me. But you weren't sorry for all the good you thought you were doing. And it _was _good."

"Thought…" Jessica snorted, her voice hollow.

"Knew." Veronica corrected. "And you were right. Jessica, you're a good person. Boone and I… my Chapter… I may not like it, but we're casualties. But the bad guys…?" she reached across and gently took Jessica's hands, letting Boone's arm drop to the cot. "Jessica, at some point in your life, you knew this 'Burke' character. And I look at the things he's done to you, and to us in only a few days. Now the Legion is coming back? With more like him? The things you've done have made life so easy here in the Mojave… it's easy to forget what _real_ bad guys are like. The things _they_ can do." She gestured at the body of the NCR sniper. "This hurts all of us, but I want you to promise me you won't let it break you."

"Burke won't be the last." The Courier told her hollowly. "There are more coming."

Veronica reached up and removed Boone's sniper beret, with the First recon emblem emblazoned on the front. She handed it across to the Courier, saying, "In that case, it's time to go back to war."

"We'll need a weapon." Cassidy added quietly.

* * *

Vulpes Inculta was thrown to his knees. The thin, gangly abomination stepped back into its strict formation. They stood silent. Immobile in the night's flickering play of orange light and blue-black shadows. A part of Vulpes was envious, another part sickened; the strange soldiers with their sallow pasty skin, deadened white eyes, and perfect physiques showed the kind of discipline that even the most highly trained of Caesar's Centurions could only dream of.

After all, Centurions were only human.

Torches burned on the steep walls of the enormous valley, throwing light upon each rocky surface and revealing the macabre displays of power: crucified victims, taken from every tribe this blasphemous army, had ever conquered. There were many. Hundreds, probably. Certainly more than Vulpes could count. Far above their heads, the pale full moon shone brightly against the pitched black sky. There was no sound, save for the bonfires and the crackle of the spitting torches.

He kept his eyes averted from the man sitting on the throne before him. So this was He, then? Lanius had given Vulpes only the vaguest of instructions before sending him east to seek help. A map and a set of instructions on what to say. The bare minimum. What would keep him alive. Nothing more, though much was becoming horribly clear. Vulpes had always thought Lanius a vicious tribal. But something familiar in the bearing and brutality of the Emperor's soldiers bespoke a much darker history. It occurred to him that no one had ever seen under the Legate's mask.

"The Mighty Caesar has fallen." Vulpes reported. "Legate Lanius has taken command of his Legions, and respectfully requests reinforcements, that we may continue our assault upon the unjust and the profligates."

The Emperor stayed silent for a moment, thoughtfully tapping his lips with his finger. "So… Edward Sallow is finally dead?"

"Edward?" Vulpes stared.

"Your Caesar's true name." the Emperor chuckled. "He always hated it. But he is dead?"

"He is." Vulpes confirmed.

"Trying to take that pitiful concrete wall, no doubt. A waste of time. Perhaps he should have taken the Good Doctor up on his offer. But then …Edward always was a fool."

Vulpes rose to his feet angrily, despite the ranks of silent sentinels behind him. "I will not hear you speak such slander-"

"He was a fool!" the Emperor corrected harshly, silencing the Frumentarius. "A fool chasing after a lump of concrete in the middle of a desert! There are goals far more worthy of a true Legion. A true empire." The man rose to his feet, and Vulpes saw that where a Vexillarius of Caesar's mighty Legion might proudly wear the head of a wolf, the Emperor was sporting a deathclaw's horned visage.

The man rose and descended the steps of his throne. "An utter fool. His Legion scrabbled in the dirt for useless lumps of rock, pushing and pulling against the NCR. Each grasping at the Hoover Dam. A pair of children, fighting over a toy in a sandbox. Foolish when there is an entire _world _out there. Have you not heard the Legends, Frumentarius?" the Emperor asked. "A ring of mountains with all the secrets of the world untouched on the other side? A Casino, guarded by the damned with a vault of unkillable soldiers beneath? A great Chasm, bridging the divide between Earth and Hell and containing within it all the nuclear fire of the old world? How easy it would be to utterly _crush _the NCR with all that power at our fingertips…

"And there is more still! Have you never heard of the Vault Dweller, or the Chosen One? The Lone Wanderer who even now lives to the east in the ruins of Washington? I have sent one of my eldest Frumentarius back to deal with him. Unfortunate, but necessary. Perhaps I will turn his body over to the Good Doctor once Brutus and the Capital Wasteland have been dealt with. For these Walkers…they were and are the greatest warriors the world has ever seen. More than warriors. World builders. World destroyers. Beyond human. Something more." He gestured at the stoic ranks and smiled a devilish smile. "Something…better. You have one of your own. A thorn in your side, a dagger at your throat. The cause of all your woes..."

Vulpes grunted in response. The Courier. The dark-haired beauty with the emerald eyes. Her knowing smirk, red lips and swaying hips had left him aching with desire. It wasn't often that Vulpes Inculta wanted to indulge in the usual recreational activities of the Legion, but he knew without a doubt that if that woman, that… Courier… ever found herself at his mercy, he would show her none. He could have had her once. That was what burned most. He could have taken her in the ruins of Nipton, but he had been foolish enough to let her go. To let her return to her own Master.

The Emperor turned away and retook his seat upon the throne. "Tell Lanius he shall have his slave hordes. And a few of the Good Doctor's own creations to do with as he sees fit. In return, he is to leave the Lucky 38, the Courier, and the vaults beneath Fortification Hill, untouched. He is under my command now, as it was always meant to be. We are one, now, your Legion and mine. Edward Sallow went west. I went east. He was stuck in the past, Frumentarius. Rotting there with the rest of the tribals and warring factions and dreams of Purity. Welcome to the Legion of William Calhoun. Here… we do not fear the future."

* * *

**The Title of this Story is Pro Posterus. According to the best of my sources, that translates into English as: "For the Future" **

**Lanius' history has been adjusted somewhat in this continuity, along with a few other minor details.**

**This story is officially finished. I know it wasn't the regular action-packed romp, but I wanted to introduce Jessica and give her a moment in the limelight (not to mention introducing the BIG BADs of the series, and the overarching plot). **

"**Bill" Calhoun is a real Fallout canon character. **

**Now to finish Mutatis Mutandis and move on to The Children of the Atom. Expect an update for Mutatis Mutandis sometime in the next 7 days. And perhaps one for Perspective as well.**

**Now Krow Blood and I will bid you a poorly spelled Adeiu, and sign off on this one. **


End file.
